









i^s.>.->>>-- 




IRISH SCHOLARS 



OF 



The Penal Days: , 



GLIMPSES OF THEIE LABORS 



ON 



THE CONTINENT OF EUROPE. 



BY 



Rev. William P. TreacYo 



"As gold in the furnace He hath proved them, and as a victim of a holo- 
canst He hath received them, and in time there shall be respect had to them." 
IVisd. III., 6. 




FR. PUSTET, , ^.^-^ 

Prmter to the Holj- Apostolic See and the S. Congregation of Rites, fl 



FR. PUSTET & CO., 
50 & 52 BARCLAY ST., j 204 VINE STREET 

NEW YOKK. I CINCINNATI. 



V 



-By^^ 



\j\% 




n 



H. BARTSCH, 

Pbinteh & Elkctrottpeb, 

6i Beekman Street, 

New York. 



(COPYEIGHTED. ) 



TO THE 

EIGHT REV. INOCHAEL J. O'FARRELL, D.D., 

BISHOP OF TRENTON, 

"Who SO admirably represents in his own person tlie Virtues, 
Learning, Eloquence, and Patriotism of the Irish Pre- 
lates, Priests and Students of the Penal Days, this 
Work is respectfully and affectionately 
inscribed by the author. 



CONTENTS. 



FACE. 

Intkoduction 

The Penal Days in Ireland .------1 

Pateiotism of.Ikish Peiests in Penal Times - - - - 16 

Ibish Peoeessoks in Penal days --.___ 37 

Ieish Chaplains with the Ieish Beigades - - - - 50 

Ibish Chaplains in Eueopean Couets - - - - - 56 

Ieish Hagiology ----.--.-62 

Ieish Colleges Founded Abeoad ------ 71 

St. Isidoee's College, Kome - - - - - - -80 

The Ieish Dominican Convent, on Mont-Cesae, Louvain - 93 
The Ieish Dominican Convent, Lisbon ----- 104 

The Convent of Saint Anthony of Padua, Louvain - - 109 

The Ieish College at Pabis - - 134 

The Pastobal College, Louvain ------ 147 

pont-a-mousson, lobbaine - - - - - - -161 

Some Ibish Authoes of the Penal Days ----- 168 

Ibish Genius Abeoad -------- 182 

Geaves of Ieish Exiles on the Continent of Eueope - - 205 
A Peotestant Ceitic in Catholic Counteies - - - - 213 

Ieish Monks in Coenwall -------- 226 

The Last Victim of Elizabeth's Beign in Ibeland - - 260 

DoMiNicus De Kosaeio -.--_-__ 275 
Que Lady of Montaigu -------- 294 

PiLGEiMS AT Montaigu -------- 303 



CONTENTS. (Poetry.) 



PAGE. 

A Hymn to Faith 47 

Lines to Irish Students ..------4:8 

The Homes of Old Tipperaiy 49 

The Sword Alone 55 

The Cross 60 

When Night Comes On --------61 

The Patriot's Address 69 

Erin, Dear ! 79 

Her Rosary of Wells 91 

Good Night 92 

Erin's Prayer 103 

The Irish Peasant's Song -.--.--- 107 
Eefuge of the Wretched - - - - - - - - 108 

Lines on the Death of Maurice Eustace, S. J. - - - - 130 

Our Crosses and Shamrocks -._.-- -132 
Memories of the Continent ....__- 146 

There is Hope for Erin .--.._-. 160 

The Isle of the Living - 166 

The Monks of Erin - - - 180 

Ave Maria ! 204 

Shadows 209 

To a Singing Bird by the Sea - - 223 

The Fishermen's Song -_.---.. 224 
Lines on Finding a Singing Bird Dead in the Snow - - - 252 

Kind Hearts - - 253 

An Ode to St. Isidore _ _ 254 

I Roam a Land of Golden Dreams ..--.- 256 
I'll Tell my Beads - - - - - - - - -257 

Be not Afraid - - - - , 258 

Holy Spirit, Come and Guide Me 259 

Rome - - 266 

The Holy Viaticum 267 

Our Lady of Sorrow - - - 269 



The World 270 

Come, and See the Capitol -------- 271 

To Aubrey De Vere 272 

A Soul in Sin - - 273 

The Bard 274 

Sweet Night - 284 

Up, Up, and Mount for Evermore - - - - - - 285 

I am weary of the City -------- 286 

In the Country - ' - - - - 287 

Mater Inviolata 288 

Oh, thus the Bards 289 

On Smiles 290 

What is Love? 291 

Tea, Lord, Thou knowest that I Love Thee - - - _ 292 

World-Music - - - 310 

The Beauty of Childhood - - - - - - - - 311 

Ocean Waves ---------- 312 

Apostles Love the Eace of Man ------ 313 

On Seeing the Capitol -------- 314 

No Unalloyed Happiness on Earth - - - - - -315 

To a Priest 316 

No More We'll Sail O'er a Troubled Sea 317 

The Old Year is not Dying 318 

Mother's Beads - - - -- - -'- - -319 

If Thou wert not my Love, 0! God 320 

There is always Light in Heaven - - - - - - 321 

St. Mary Magdalen 322 

Pair Spouse of Christ 323 

To the Queen of May - - -324 

Dark of Eye, and Dark of Skin 325 

A People's Prayer - - - - 326 

Paith, Hope, and Love -------- 327 

My Soul is like yon Glowing Fire __--_. 328 
Lines to Sister Angeline -------- 329 

A Hymn to the Queen of May - 330 

Sacred is the Glorious Banner. - - - -- - -331 

The Bell is the Voice of God 332 



On Dust, on Clay, We Daily Tread 333 

A Voice in the Soul 334 

Lines on the Death of an Irish Maiden in Exile - - _ 334 

My Last Hymn - - 335 

Rome, the Mother of all Churches 336 

My Secrets - - 337 

Hope On 338 

To a Beach Bird 339 

My God, I'm Tired of Worldly Thoughts 340 

The Bird at Steinberg Chapel .---.-. 341 
Weary Pilgrims ---------- 343 

'Gainst Winds and Tides -------- 344 

The Dying Child to his Mother 345 

Poetic Inspiration -- 346 

To the Rev. Abram J. Ryan - ' 347 

To America 348 

Love of Ireland - - . - - - -'- - - 350 

Irish Bards 351 

A Home Rule Song - - - 352 

This is my Native Land -------- 353 

Sweet Lyre, Adieu -_-.---_- 354 



PREFATORY. 



WHILE the author of these pages was a student 
at Louvain, he spent a great part of his recrea- 
tion time in gathering up historical points connected 
with the history of the Irish Students and Schools of 
the Penal Days. He then had no idea of writing a book 
on the subject. He merely wished for some information 
for his own private satisfaction. It was a real pleasure 
for him to learn how many of his dear countrymen, in 
evil times, rose and shone in " the land of the stranger." 
It was with no little enthusiasm that he entered the 
chapel of St. Anthony's Convent, where "Ward, Colgan, 
Fleming, O'Cleary, Conry and Mooney were wont to 
pray for the Island of their love. With uncovered head 
he entered the ruins of the Irish Dominican House, on 
Mont-Cesar. Great, too, was his joy when he discovered 
the site of the Pastoral College — that College which for 
so many years had been the asylum of the brave secular 
piiests of Ireland. 

In the pursuit of his pleasing and, he hopes, useful 
pastime, he received every encouragement from some 
of the distinguished archeologists then at Louvain. 
Some of these gentlemen lent him rare books and docu- 
ments in which references to his favorite study could 
be found. In the course of time he had amassed a 



VI 



great pile of notes. These, for convenience sake, he 
tried to embody in a series of articles. 

Some time ago a few of his literary friends, gentle- 
men for whose judgment he had a high regard, urged 
him to send several of his papers on the Irish Students 
and Colleges to some of the Catholic journals or maga- 
zines. He did so, and found that they were well received 
by the public and praised by able literary men. Most of 
those printed in this^ountry were copied by the Catholic 
Press of London and that of the leading cities in Ireland. 
The encouragement thus generously given on all sides 
makes him bold to think that the collection he now 
prints in this volume is not wholly devoid of merit. If 
love and reverence for the sacerdotal heroes of the 
Penal Times; if sympathy with his subject; if a desire 
to glorify Old Catholic Ireland; if a longing to do some- 
thing for the scattered sons of St. Patrick could enable 
him to write well, then indeed he ought to have suc- 
ceeded beyond measure. 

It is a sad fact that full justice has never been done 
the Irish continental students. The story of the Irish 
Brigade at the defense of Cremona, and their large share 
in the battles of Blenheim, Ramillies and " loved Fonte- 
noy" are familiar to all ; but, alas, how few know any- 
thing about the devoted and pale-faced students who, 
in foreign lands, Avithin cloistered walls and silent cells, 
wept and spoke and wrote and prayed for bleeding 
Ireland. The names of Sarsfield, O'Brien and Dillon 
rise " like a litany to our lips," while even those of 
Conry, French, Wadding, Talbot and Colgan sound 



VI] 



strange and meaningless in our ears. Yet Conry was 
drawn from his cherished solitude and favorite studies 
through love for Ireland and its creed, and was tossed 
about in the tempest-lashed waves that destroyed King 
Phillip's friendly flotilla, while as yet the Irish soldier - 
chiefs were in the court of Elizabeth or were feasted by 
the national enemy at Dublin Castle; yet French left 
peace and friends and honorable station behind him to 
become the soul of the great confederacy, and to par- 
take of all its risks and toils and dangers; yet Colgan 
worked hard day and night, and wasted his life in old, 
dusty libraries in France and "Belgium in order to 
preserve, or increase ever so little, the glory of the 
Island of Saints ; yet Wadding and Talbot created a 
great interest in the Irish Confederation at Madrid, 
Paris and Eome. Talbot procured money at Madrid 
and "great guns " at Paris; Wadding obtained at Rome, 
money, muskets, a nuncio to Ireland, and the Papal 
benediction for the war. 

As a student I am happy and proud to be able to say 
that while Erin's exiled warriors were cutting their way 
to fame, rank and glory upon the reddest battle-fields 
af Spain, France, Italy, Austria and the Netherlands, 
her scholars were bravely climbing the steep, rough 
hills of science and sanctity in classic halls at Antwerp 
and Louvain, at Lisle, Douay, Bordeaux, Rouen and St. 
Omer, at Salamanca and Alcala, at Coimbra and Prague, 
and at St. Isidore's at Rome. 

The penal days are gone, and gone, we trust, forever. 
The noble Irish students who devoted their time and 



VIU 



energies, their talent and their lives, to the service of 
God and fatherland, have long since been crowned at 
the gates of Paradise and may now be seen in that vast 
multitude whom no man can count; still this is an age 
of historic justice, an age in which honor is given where 
honor is due. So old Ireland cannot allow the names 
or the memory of her dearest, holiest, grandest sons — 
her continental students of the penal days — to pass 
away into the dark, cold sea of oblivion, " unwept, un- 
honored and unsung." She bids her bards strike the 
saddest chords in her mournful lyre above their graves; 
she bids her orators rise into the loftiest regions of their 
art when they name their names or refer to their deeds; 
she encourages her pilgrim-sons to seek in old European 
libraries and churchyards for everything that can add 
one ray to the glory that surrounds them. Ireland is a 
grateful land, a land with a great heart and a wonderful 
memory. A cup of cold water given to one of her 
children WjII be remembered with feelings of deep and 
lasting gratitude. She never ceases to bless the hand 
that is raised in defence of her, however weak that hand 
may be. How then can she ever forget the noble and 
generous and gifted army of students who with voice 
and potent pen defended her rights, proclaimed her 
ancient glory, aroused the sympathy of the nations for 
her, and made peoples alien to her in tongue, though 
not in creed or feeling, weep over the sad, sad story of 
her wrongs ? 

The memory of the just man is eternal. Though he 
has to carry his cross and bear his heavy load of sorrow 



IX 



during life, after death an impartial posterity will love 
and revere his name, and recount with pride the glories 
of his works and pains. Tyrants may have crushed 
him beneath their heels, vile tongues may have sland- 
ered him, still, when his white bones are slumbering in 
the gloom of the grave, good men and true will be 
found to do him right and to keep his memory ever 
fresh and green. The Irish Students of the Penal Days 
were just men, who suffered persecution for justice* 
sake. Their only crime was fidelity to their consciences 
and an ardent love of the land of their birth. Though 
many of them died in strange lands, still their epitaphs 
have not been left unwritten. Slabs and marble crosses, 
commemorating their virtues and learning, may be 
found at Paris and Madrid, at Lisbon, Alcala, Louvain 
and Rome. When will the Irish People raise a National 
Monument in grateful remembrance of them? Has 
Glasnevin no spot for a pillar bearing the great names 
of French, Wadding, Ward, Lombard, Fitzsimon, Colgan, 
Archer, Conry, Stanihurst, White, O'Clery and O'Daly? 
From the depths of Ireland's generous soul, from the 
love of Ireland's great heart; from the lips of all "the 
sea -divided Gaels," I hear one loud, triumphant — 
" YES ! " 



THE PENAL DAYS IN IRELAND. 



"Oh, Holy Cross, dear symbol of the dread 

Death of our Lord, 
Around thee long have slept our Martyr-dead, 

Sward over sward, 
An hundred Bishops I myself can count 

Among the slain ; 
Chiefs, Captains, rank and file, a shining mount 

Of God's ripe grain." 

The history of the Penal Time is one long psalm, full 
of sad pathos and mournful music. It is like the wail 
of Rachel, or the loud cry of Israel by the waters of 
Babylon. It is truly the " blackest picture " in the his- 
tory of a generous and faithful people. It is no wonder 
that our Davis was inspired by it to sing the saddest of 
his songs. Yet to us, who possess the true Faith, that 
pearl without price, there is something in the sound, in 
the echo of its sorrowful strains that causes our hearts 
to beat with joy, that tempts our lips to pour forth the 
glad, triumphant notes of the old Te Deum of Ambrose 
and Augustine : 

**"We praise Thee, God, 
And we acknowledge Thee to be the Lord ; 

All the earth 
Doth worship Thee, the Father Everlasting." 



It is too true that it recalls to our minds the suffer- 
ings of the Catacombs; the martyrdom of Agnes and 
Cecilia, of Sebastian and Theodore, of Ignatius, Polycarp 
and Callistus ; but it is also true, oh, how gloriously- 
true ! that it recalls the fervor, the constancy, the hero- 
ism, the victories of the first ages of Christianity. 
Though it be sad to us as the " Conquest of Alhama " to 
the Moors, it touches us like the stirring words of Riga, 
it fires us and incites us like the war-song of the Swiss. 
It is something more to us than a mere martyrology, 
than the dark and hapless annals of injustice, persecution 
and wrong. It is the story of heroic and saintly lives, 
it is the Vexilla Regis of our country. It brings before 
us the deeds of some of Ireland's most devoted and most 
patriotic sons ; it places before us the bright picture of 
Ireland's most glorious martyrs and confessors, of Ire- 
land's most laborious and gifted students and scholars. 

It shows us what sacrifices our fathers were ready and 
willing to make for the sake of knowledge and religion. 
It tells us how they kept alive in caverns and on solitary 
■cliffs the torches of Science and Sanctity. It shows us 
what the Irish priesthood did and suffered for love of 
of their country and religion. It teaches us to prize 
and cherish the Holy Faith, handed down to us at the 
cost of toil and blood and tears. It incites us to purity 
of life and nobility of action. It points out to us what 
we may become, for 

"Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime. " 



, "WTiether we consider the Irish student as a youth sit- 
ting beneath the vines of Italy reading Virgil or Homer, 
or as a professor of theology or philosophy in some cel- 
ebrated school, or whether we consider him as a mis- 
sionary on one of his native hills, with a price set on his 
head and spies and blood-hounds on his track, or as a 
lonely prisoner in Birmingham Tower, or the Tower of 
London, his story is a grand, strange story. The diary 
of the Irish student in foreign halls and monasteries ; 
the diary of the Irish student crossing dangerous seas 
in order to enter on his mission of death ; his wander- 
ings in wolf -infested woods and on barren moors : his 
hours of solitude in gloomy caves and ruined cabins ; 
his arrest, conviction and glorious martyrdom, should 
afford subjects for the poet's pen and the painter's 
brush, and should be treated with love and reverence 
by the simple historian, by the narrator of cold, dry 
and common facts. 

The life of every true missionary is hard, perilous 
and laborious. He must be ready to work and travel 
as well during the night as during the day. He can 
never think of himself or his own convenience while 
there is a duty to perform, while there is a soul to save. 
He must be willing to suffer from fatigue, from hunger, 
from cold. He must hourly take up his cross and 
follow closely in the footsteps of his Divine Master. 
But when his mission is beset with dangers and dif- 
ficulties; when the great ones of the land hunt him 
down ; when he is considered as an enemy of the 
State, and his labors and sacrifices condemned as 



treasons ; then is his life filled with sorrow and afflic- 
tion, though his every act becomes an act of heroism. 
The Irish priests and Prelates all through the Penal 
days had such a mission. Neither in China nor Japan, 
nor in the wilds of Africa, had missionaries of Christi- 
anity more to suffer, nor more difficulties to encounter, 
than the Irish priests had during the gloomy hours of 
sectarian persecution. They led lives of poverty and 
suffering, and died in most cases either in loathsome 
prisons or on the shameful scaffold. Kings and queens 
were their enemies, law was no protection for them, 
justice was no shield for them, judges were their accus- 
ers, exile and death were their heirlooms. Their altars 
were cast down, their churches were burned, their peo- 
ple impoverished, the Cross they loved was hated, their 
Faith was proscribed. Whole armies with naked swords 
were sent to cut them down, ships were built to carry 
them off to penal settlements, they were deprived of all 
civil rights, they were outlaws in the land that gave 
them birth, they were forced to hide in caverns by the 
seaside, to sleep in woods with the fox and wolf, to beg 
a crumb to eat from a robbed and down-trodden peas- 
antry. No one could with impunity assist or harbor 
them. In secret they said Mass, in secret they attended 
the sick and dying, in secret they blessed the marriage, 
and in secret they baptized or blessed the grave. Ter- 
rors of every description surrounded them ; they lived 
in disguise, and continually walked in the shadow of 
death. But nothing could chill their fervor, nor daunt 



their courage. They feared neither fire, nor persecu- 
tion, nor the sword. " Their conscience was their crown." 
They loved suffering and they sighed for martyrdom. 
They knew that Stephen had been stoned, Paul be- 
headed, and Peter crucified. If they were the true fol- 
lowers of Christ they knew well that the servant is not 
greater than his master, and that, as Jesus had to suffer 
so that He might enter into His glory, so they, too, 
would have to pass through many tribulations before 
they could enter the Kingdom of Heaven. They knew 
that their cause was just and holy, and that triumph it 
would in the end, for the gates of hell can never prevail 
against Christ's Spouse. 

"Your Religion, noble countrymen," wrote the pat- 
riotic Bishop French, in his exile home, "your Religion 
is the sole cryme for which you suffer (blessed forever 
be the name of God for this). Your Religion hath 
stirred up this tempest, which ought not to terrifye you 
over much, seeing the Apostles, our first Captains and 
Xieaders in the holy cause, those darlings of God, 
endured hard things for Religion : prisons, whippings, 
contumelies, and all sorts of vexations were to them 
delights and consolations. They, after ' being scurged, 
went from the sight of the councell rejoycing, because 
they were accounted worthy to suffer reproach for the 
name of Jesus.' Doe not therefore feare all that men 
can doe against you, while with teares and patience you 
march under the purple Standart of Crucify'd Jesus, 
for in the end the day and victory will be yours ; feare 
not the power of men in this glorious tryall : there be 



more with you then against you (Legions of Angells, 
though you see them not). Those heavenly hostes are 
pitching theire tents round about you. Hee that led 
the children of Israel out of Egypt in wonders through 
the Redd Sea, never wants power to deliver you; waite 
for his good tyme, for hee will come." 

These noble words, written in Ireland's darkest hour, 
written by a venerable Prelate, far from his people and 
his country, in our day have been verified. The God 
who led the Israelites through the Red Sea; who gave 
them pure waters from flinty rocks ; who gave them 
manna white from heaven; who consoled them while 
their harps were hung on the willows and they wept by 
the waters of the Babylon; who sent them mighty men; 
who sent them angels to fight their battles, to mow 
down their enemies; who gave them prophets, wonder- 
working prophets, with fingers of light, to point out to 
them the Promised Land, has graciously conducted 
Ireland out of the darkness and misery of religious 
persecution and oppression, out of chains and bondage, 
into the glorious light, and peace, and joy, and freedom 
of conscience. Now, as in the days of yore, in the days 
of Ireland's saints and doctors, of Ireland's heroes and 
sages, vast and beautiful cathedrals are found in every 
Irish city; chapels with golden crosses stand on every 
hill-top; monasteries are hidden away in all Ii'eland's 
valleys; and colleges and schools are opened in every 
town and village. Old abbeys have arisen from their 
ruins "with pomp such as glows round a sunrise in 
summer." Again the gemmed-chalices are lifted by ten 



thousand hands immaculate ; again the virgin-daughters 
of Erin are free to dwell in peaceful convent homes, to 
follow in the footsteps of Bridget of Kildare; again the 
hymn of love and praise to God Most High is heard 
ringing from shore to shore. 

The illustrious Father Thomas Burke, the eloquent 
son of St. Dominick, thus speaks in his lecture on " The 
History of Ireland, as Told in Her Euins," of the con- 
duct of Irish priests during the three centuries pre- 
ceding the fifteenth: "During these three hundred 
years, the combat for Ireland's nationality was still con- 
tinued. The O'Neill, the O'Brien, the O'Donnell, the 
McGuire, the O'More, kept the national sword waving 
in the air. The Franciscans and the Dominicans cheer- 
ed them, entered into their feelings, and they could not 
be said to be more Irish than the Irish themselves, be- 
cause they were the heart's blood of Ireland. They 
were the light of the national councils of the chieftains 
of Ireland, as their historians were the faithful annalists 
of the glories of these days of combat. They saw the 
trouble; and yet, for three hundred years the Francis- 
can and Dominican had not discovered what his real 
mission to Ireland was. But at the end of the three 
hundred years came the fifteenth century. Then came 
the cloud of religious persecution over the land. All 
the hatred that divided the Saxon and the Celt, on the 
principle of nationality, was now heightened by the ad- 
ditional hatred of religious discord and division; and 
Irishmen, if they hated the Saxon before, as the enemy 
of Ireland's nationality from the fifteenth century, 



8 



hated him with an additional hatred, as the enemy of 
Ireland's faith and Ireland's religion." 

Father Burke, after some remarks, which though elo- 
quent, are not pertinent to the subject of this article, 
continues: " Well, my friends, then came the hour of the 
ruin of the dear old convents of the Franciscans and 
Dominicans. Their inmates were driven out at the point 
of the sword; they were scattered like sheep over the 
land. Five pounds was the price set upon the head of 
the friar or priest — the same price that was set upon 
the head of a wolf. They were hunted throughout the 
land; and when they fled for their lives from their con- 
vent homes, the Irish people opened their hearts and 
said: 'Come to us, Soggarth Aroon.' Throughout the 
length and breadth of the land they were scattered, 
with no shelter but the canopy of Heaven; with no 
Sunday sacrifice to remind the people of God; no Mass 
celebrated in public, and no Gospel preached; and yet 
they succeeded for three hundred years in preserving 
the glorious Catholic Faith, that is as strong in Ireland 
to-day as ever it was. These venerable ruins tell the 
tale of the nation's woe, of the nation's sorrow. As 
long as it was merely a question of destroying a Cister- 
cian or a Benedictine Abbey, there were so few of these 
in the land that the people did not feel it much. But 
when the persecution came upon the Bhreahir, as the 
friar was called — the men whom everybody knew — the 
men whom everybody came to look up to for consola- 
tion in affliction or in sorrow; when it came upon him — 
then it brought sorrow and affliction to every village, to 



every little town — to every man in Ireland. There were, 
at this time, upwards of eighty convents of religious — 
[Franciscans and Dominicans — in Ireland, that number- 
ed very close upon a thousand priests of each order. 
There were nearly a thousand Irish Franciscans, and 
nearly a thousand Irish Dominican priests, when Henry 
hegan his persecution. He was succeeded, after a brief 
interval of thirty years, by his daughter Elizabeth. 
How many Dominicans, do you think, were then left in 
Ireland? There were a thousand, you say? Oh! God 
of Heaven, there were only four of them left — only 
four. And all the rest of these heroic men had stained 
their white habit with the blood that they shed for God 
and for their country. Twenty thousand men it took 
Elizabeth, for as many years as there were thousands of 
them, to try to plant the seedling of Protestantism on 
Irish soil. The ground was dug as for a grave; the 
seed of Protestantism was cast into that soil; and the 
blood of the nation was poured in, to warm it and bring 
it forth. It never grew — it never came forth ; it never 
bloomed. Ireland was as Catholic the day that Eliza- 
beth died at Hampton Court, gnawing the flesh off her 
hands in despair, and blaspheming God — Ireland was 
as Catholic that day as she was the day that Henry 
YIII. vainly commanded her first to become Protestant. 
"Then came a little breathing-time — a very short 
time — and in fifty years there were six hundred Irish 
Dominican priests in Ireland again. They studied in 
Spain, in France, in Italy. These were the youth, the 
children of Irish fathers and mothers, who cheerfully 



10 



gave them up, though they knew, almost to a certainty, 
that they were devoting them to a martyr's death ; but 
they gave them up for God. Smuggled out of the coun- 
try, they studied in these foreign lands ; and they came 
back again by night, and by stealth, and they landed 
upon the shores of Ireland ; and when Cromwell came 
he found six hundred Irish Dominicans upon the Irish 
land. Ten years after — only ten years passed — and 
again the Irish Dominican preachers assembled to count 
their numbers, and to tell how many survived and how 
many had fallen. How many do you think were left 
out of the six hundred? But one hundred and fifty 
were left ; four hundred and fifty had perished — had 
shed their blood for their country, or had been shipped 
away to Barbadoes as slaves. These are the tales their 
ruins tell. I need not speak of their noble martyrs. 
Oh, if these moss-grown stones of the Irish Franciscan 
and Dominican ruins could speak, they would tell how 
the people gave up everything they had, for years and 
years, as wave after wave of persecutions and confisca- 
tions and robbery rolled over them, rather than re- 
nounce their glorious Faith or their glorious priest- 
hood." 

The sufferings of the Jesuits, and of the members of 
other religious bodies, of secular priests and Prelates, 
for Ireland and Ireland's Faith, fully equalled the suf- 
ferings of the devoted Irish Dominicans and Francis- 
cans. The heroic Dominick Collins, the faithful son of 
St. Ignatius, taken by the heretics, in the fort of Beerha- 
ven, and hanged by order of cruel Mountjoy, at Cork ; 



11 



Maurice Eustace, young, generous and brave, executed at 
Dublin, on pretence of treason against Elizabeth ; Fa- 
ther James Boyton, slain by the followers of the rene- 
gade and savage Inchiquin at the siege of Cashel of the 
Kings, while he administered the sacrament of Penance 
to the dying defenders of the Holy Rock ; — Collins — 
Eustace — Boyton — these, and hundreds of others of 
their Order, remind us of what the Jesuits did and suf- 
fered for Ireland during the penal days. The fate of 
Thaddeus O'Connell recalls the heroism of the canons 
of St. Augustine; Mulcahy of Clonmel, O'Kelly of Con- 
naught, Fitzpatrick, descended from the noble barons 
of Ossory, and Ormily of Clare, vividly recall to our 
minds the patriotism and self-sacrifice of the secular 
clergy. If the members of religious Orders ; if the 
secular clergy were faithful to Ireland ; if they freely 
poured out their blood for the cause of Religion and 
Freedom ; if the people of Ireland suffered, and fought, 
and died, like true martyrs ; faithful above all, we are 
tempted to say, and we are proud to say it, were the no- 
ble Prelates of the Irish Church. Bishop after Bishop, 
Archbishop after Archbishop, in all the Sees of Ireland, 
died gloriously for the Faith and the liberty of the 
Church of St. Patrick. Well did the purple become 
them in those days of blood and slaughter. 

In 1521, rather late in the year, the devastating 
monster, so ironically called the " Reformation," was 
brought forth in Germany of the pride and lust of an 
apostate monk. The Immaculate Bride of Christ, the 
Church without spot or wrinkle, was declared unclean. 



12 



and the doctrines she had received from the Son of 
God, and which she had preserved by the special aid of 
the Paraclete, were condemned as degrading, supersti- 
tious, and revolting to reason. Her sacrifices were 
regarded as shadows, empty types; her power was con- 
sidered null and void ; many of her sacraments were 
laughed at and rejected as worthless. Bold, bad men rose 
up and spoke loudly to vitiated and thoughtless crowds 
against the teaching which had been held by the 
apostles, explained and revered by saints and doctors, 
and for which thousands of martyrs had shed their 
blood. The success of the " Reformation " is the 
strongest proof that history affords of the corruption 
of the human heart and the weakness and darkness of 
human reason. The fall of Germany from the true 
faith, in its unreasonableness and evil effects, finds no 
parallel except in the fall of Lucifer and that of Adam. 
If the " Reformation " was not an accomplished fact, all 
reasonable men would place it among the things im- 
possible. 

In 1538, Henry's vical-general, Cromwell, undertook 
the massive and vain task of changing the faith of the 
Irish people. Monasteries that had been the safe re- 
treats of science and virtue, were suppressed; the 
Scriptures were translated into the vulgar tongues ; 
the psalms were distributed by the cart-load to those 
who frequented the public-house more often than the 
church. The Irish people are world-renowned for their 
wit and and their keen sense of the ridiculous. When 
Henry first declared himself " supreme over ecclesiasti- 



13 



cal matters as well spiritual as temporal, and head 
of the Church, even of both isles, England and Ire- 
land," they laughed and enjoyed it as a huge joke. 
The mere thought of "the new Pope," with his cor- 
pulency and pride, his avarice and tyranny was enough 
to make the gravest of them smile. But when he 
showed that he was terribly in earnest, when his Par- 
liament passed laws worthy of Nero, when his minions 
began to enforce them, their mirth was turned to sad- 
ness, and their smiles gave way to frowns and tears. 
Then the Irish people rose to their feet and de- 
clared with determination and courage that their 
island was the " Island of Saints," and that it 
owned no authority in spiritual matters, that it ac- 
knowledged no Pope, except the Pope of Rome. 
Then began the long and heroic struggle of the Irish 
clergy and laity against the supremacy of the Eng- 
lish sovereigns and the polluted doctrines of Luther's 
heresy. The history of this struggle is written in the 
best, the purest, the holiest blood of Ireland. From 
that black day in the year 1540, when the gray monas- 
tery of Monaghan was destroyed and its guardian be- 
headed, down to the fatal day when Father Nicholas 
Sheehy was hanged at Clonmel and his head hoisted 
on a pole over the arched porch of the old jail, what 
a host of martyrs was born to Ireland. God alone 
knows how many priests and noble laymen were slain 
for His love and Church during the bloody reigns of 
Henry and Elizabeth and James I. and Charles I., dur- 
ing the Commonwealth and the reigns of Charles IL 



14 



and Anne, and George II. The martyrs of the early 
Church died in the arena with thousands of spectators 
looking upon their glorious combat; but angels alone 
saw the Irish heroes who were butchered in lonely 
woods and in deep, dim caves. On All-Saints' Day our 
Holy Mother the Church honors them in her sacrifices 
and sings their praises. How glorious is the story of 
of those about whom we find detailed accounts ! What 
Catholic heart is not moved to feelings of pity and 
admiration at the thought of Dermod O'Hurly, Arch- 
bishop of Cashel, with his tin boots filled with blazing 
oil ; of Oliver Plunket, having his legs and arms broken 
on an anvil in the forge of a Calvinistic ironsmith ; of 
the Franciscan, Eugene O'Teman, beiiig flogged to 
death; of O'Gorman being beaten with heavy clubs; of 
Boetius Egan, Bishop of Boss, being hacked to pieces 
by a cruel and infuriated soldiery, and finally expiring 
with the reins of his own horse around his neck? 

It is not necessary for us to dwell upon the great 
sufferings of Most Bev. Archbishop Malachy O'Queely, 
who being found with the Connaught army after its de- 
feat by Sir Charles Coote, had his right arm cut off and 
his body cut up into small pieces by the Puritans ; nor 
is it necessary to speak of the trials of De Burgo, of 
Peter Talbot, of Bichard Creagh, of Murtagh O'Brien, 
all of whom, distinguished prelates, were confined for 
years in loathsome prisons ; their histories are well 
known ; their wrongs are still recounted on many a win- 
ter's night by the firesides of Ireland, recounted by the 
people for whose faith they suffered ; — 



15 



If tears could fertilize the field, 
Or Celtic blood make roses blow, 

What harvests would fair Erin yield, 
What blushes would her valleys know ! 

Ah ! Sorrow's tears are not for earth, 
They dew the gardens of the sky ; 

A martyr's blood will ne'er give birth 
To fruits or flowers that swiftly die. 

The lilies round the Virgin's head, — 
The palm the martyr holds in hand, — 

The tree that shades the Blessed Dead, 
Are nourished by my suffering Land. 



16 



PATRIOTISM OF IRISH PRIESTS IN PENAL 

TIMES. 



Against the enemy of his country every man is a soldier, 

— Tertullian. 

DuEiNG the Penal Days every Irish college on the Con- 
tinent was a stronghold for Ireland. The founding of 
a college at Douay, at Lisbon, at Paris, at Salamanca, or 
at Rome, was of more importance, and more pregnant 
with happy and lasting services to poor Erin, than the 
capture of Dublin Castle or the possession of the Fort 
of Duncannon. Books and pamphlets, private letters 
and glorious pastorals, came forth from the schools of 
Louvain, Rome, Seville and Antwerp, condemning and 
exposing the cruelties and errors of English Protestant 
tyranny, and calling upon Catholic Europe to look with 
pity and compassion upon poor, persecuted, bleeding 
Ireland. Every Irish student in foreign lands became 
a Peter, the Hermit, a St. Bernard, and his voice thun- 
dered, and his face shone, as he preached in strange 
tongues and before different races, a new and sublime 
Crusade for Ireland. Beautiful queens wept when they 
heard from the pale student the sad, sad story of his 
little "Island of Sorrows;" kings heard him in their 
cabinets, and swore by their sceptres and their crowns 
that they would aid the princes of Ireland in freeing 



17 



themselves from injustice ; the leading soldiers of 
France, and Spain, and Italy, offered their swords and 
their lives for the defence of the Church of St. Patrick ; 
the Sovereign Pontiffs listened with tenderness to the 
Irish students, whom they loved to keep near them at 
the Vatican, when they told them of the destruction of 
religion in the Island of Saints, and one of the Popes, 
Clement A'lII., who sent a crown of peacock's feathers — 
the symbol of Glory — to O'Neill, offered the Irish " the 
same indulgences granted to those who fought in Pales- 
tine for the ransom of the Holy Sepulchre, provided 
they furnished no recruits to the queen's army, and in- 
corporated themselves in that of 'the magnanimous 
Prince O'Neill.' " When, in 1642, the Confederates met 
in Kilkenny, in the old Church of St. Canice, the noble 
Pontiff, Urban VIII., who cherished Ireland in his heart 
of hearts, knelt " at the tomb of the Apostles, and in- 
voked blessings on the arms of his faithful Irish chil- 
dren." The good Pope, Innocent XII., wrote a letter of 
condolence to the Prelates and people of Ireland. In 
this epistle, after glancing over the past trials and suf- 
ferings of the Church of Ireland, and after referring to 
the fierce storms that threatened it in the future, the 
glorious Pontiff exhorted the Prelates and people to 
look up to Heaven and fear not the tyrant nor his rod. 
" Nor," writes the Vicar of Christ, " are your sufferings 
like those of yesterday ; they are the sufferings of cen- 
turies ; your nation, renowned for sanctity, has pre- 
served for ages the glory of the Faith, to your eternal 
honor and the salvation of your souls. Therefore, suf- 



18 



fer all things witli Christian patience, knowing that the 
Lord will not permit any being to be tried beyond his 
strength ; as to us, our j)rayers shall be unceasing be- 
fore the throne of merc}^" The same venerable Pontiff 
immediately after, by apostolical letters, enjoined pro- 
cessions to be made and public prayers to be offered in 
behalf of the suffering Church of Ireland, throughout 
the several dioceses of Italy and all the adjacent is- 
lands. 

Distinguished Irish soldiers in the service of France, 
Austria, and Spain, heard of Ireland's wrongs from Je- 
suit, Franciscan, and Dominican students, and they 
vowed in their hearts to renounce wealth, station, and 
glory in foreign armies, and to return to Ireland to lift 
her trambled banner from the dust, and make it wave 
in pride over a free, prosperous, and happy people. If 
the Irish people could sing with one of their great po- 
ets, Aubrey de Vere, 

Owen Eoe, our own O'Neill, 

He treads once more our land ; 
The sword in his hand is of Spanish steel, 

But the hand is an Irish hand, 

they have to thank the Irish students of Rome and Ma- 
drid. If the Flag of " God and our Lady," of the " Red 
Hand of Ulster " — if " the Banner of Tyrconnel " were 
often cast to the free breezes of heaven, and often floated 
over a risen people, over victor-fields, the glory, for the 
greater part, is due to patriotic students in the halls 



19 



and courts of Europe, or hidden away in the woods and 
glens of Ireland. 

As the encouragement given Ireland in her present 
heroic struggle by her exiled sons scattered throughout 
the world gives her heart, and emboldens her to de- 
mand with no faltering voice her just rights, so did the 
encouragement given her by her Bishops, and priests, 
and students, on the Continent during the Penal Days, 
nerve her arm and cheer her heart in her deadly fight 
for freedom and liberty of conscience. During the 
Penal Days Ireland was ground down to the very earth 
beneath the blood-stained heel of oppression, her prin- 
ces and chiefs were plundered and rendered almost spi- 
ritless, her disbanded kerns were deprived of arms and 
ammunition, all that human and diabolical ingenuity 
could do to rob her of her ancient Faith and kill her as 
a nation, was done. But often did she look up with 
hope, often did she unsheathe her rusting swords, often 
did she rise with the proud light of defiance in her 
eyes, when students on the far Continent wrote her let- 
ters with promises of aid from France, and Spain, and 
Italy, and the Netherlands; when they wrote her letters 
bidding her to cast away her fears, to trust in a kind 
Providence, and to look for deliverance from the God 
of Battles, the God of Victory. Of old, they told her, 
God raised up a Moses to his people, and " nerved the 
arm of a Jewish maiden to smite a drunken t}T:ant in 
his tent." Ireland heard them, and she kept her lamp 
well trimmed, and she did not die as a Nation, though 
she suffered and bled like a true martyr. 



20 



The Irish students on the Continent were the true 
and faithful friends of the Celtic princes and chiefs who 
had to fly from English tyranny. They obtained for 
them high positions in the armies and courts of Europe. 
They befriended them at Rome, and obtained for many 
who were too old for active service, and who had grown 
tired of all earthly warfare, pensions from kings and 
Popes. They were faithful to them in life, they were 
faithful to them in death. The Franciscans of Louvain 
sheltered many a young exiled Irish lord. Under their 
hospitable and renowned roof the sons of Hugh O'Neill 
were protected and instructed. Florence Conry closed 
the eyes of Hugh Roe O'Donel at Simancas, in Spain, 
and watched by the death-beds of the Earls of Tyrone 
and Tyrconnel, at Rome. The Spanish steel that flashed 
so brightly, and cut so truly, in the hand of the hero of 
Benburb, was presented to him by a student in a brown 
Franciscan habit — Luke Wadding.* When the gallant 
Lord Clare, so famous in the songs of Davis, was laid to 
rest in the village of Ramillies, and while the English 
banners taken by him were being hung in the Irish 
Convent of Ypres, a monument was raised to his mem- 
ory by the patriotic Dominicans of Louvain, in their 
College of the Holy Cross, with a touching and appro- 
priate epitaph. This monument, like the Dominican 



* While the Papal Nuncio, Renuccini, "was in Ireland, the sword of Aodh 
O'Neill came into the possession of Father Wadding ; he transmitted it by the 
Dean of Fermo to the Nuncio, who presented it to Owen Roe O'Neill. The 
blade that rifted the field like lightening at Beal-an-atha-buidhe, was to shed 
glory once more over the same Irish ground in the battle of Benburb." See 
♦'Irish Writers" p 98, by Mc.Gee. 



21 



house itself, has mouldered into dust, but it must not 
be forgotten bj the Irish historian or antiquarian. 

"When the exiled princes of Tyrone and Tyrconnel 
were driven from Ireland, they found their best friends 
and warmest supporters among the Irish students on 
the Continent. In Douay, Father Conry met the nobles, 
and embraced them while tears of joy trickled down his 
cheeks. Thither also came Dr. Eugene McMahon, a 
most erudite and elegant scholar, to give them greet- 
ing. Happy were the exiles when they met this eminent 
ecclesiastic." Father Meehan, from whom we have just 
quoted, again says : ' ' Antwerp, Malines, and other great 
towns received them with all the consideration due to 
their rank and misfortunes. In the former city there 
was a college for the education of Irish aspirants to the 
priesthood, and the fugitive nobles were welcomed there 
with formalities like those shown them in Douay. In- 
deed, wherever there was an Irish seminary or convent- 
ual establishment, alumni and superiors vied with each 
other in congratulating the * illustrious princes,' for 
such was the designation by which they were recog- 
nized in Belgium, Italy, and all over the Continent." 

At Louvain the exiled chiefs were received with en- 
thusiasm by the Irish professors among the Jesuits, 
Franciscans and Dominicans, and by the students of the 
University. The great Peter Lombard wrote one letter 
to Hugh O'Neill and another to Eory O'Donel, the 
worthy brother of young Red Hugh, who was then 
sleeping, free from persecution and wrong, in the quiet 



22 



cloister of the Franciscan convent of Vallodolid, inviting 
them to the Eternal City. 

O'Neill and O'Donel, on their pilgrimage to Rome, 
were feasted by the greatest princes and warriors of 
Europe. Many of the cities received them with the 
firing of guns and the ringing of cathedral bells. 
Everywhere they showed their devotion and truly Ca- 
tholic spirit by visiting famous shrines and the tombs 
of saints and martyrs. 

" It was not until the spring following that the Ulster 
princes arrived at Eome. The day of their arrival had 
long been anticipated, and Peter Lombard, with several 
Cardinals, awaited them on the left bank of the Tiber, 
with sumptuous carriages and a long train of servitors 
in gala liveries. On passing the Flaminian gate they 
proceeded to the palace which the Pope had appointed 
for them, in that region of the city known as Borgo 
Vecchio. Here they were visited by the chief nobility 
of Rome and by the Cardinal Borghese, brother to 
Paul Y., who bade them welcome in His Holiness' name, 
and stated that the latter was desirous of seeing them 
at their earliest convenience. His Holiness, who was 
deeply affected at the story of their misfortunes, con- 
gratulated them on their escape from their merciless 
foes, and amply provided them with every requirement 
befitting their condition." 

Archbishop Lombard did all he could to honor the 
illustrious exiles and to prove his love and admiration 
for them. He was truly their guide, their spiritual 
father, their friend. Often did his eyes well with tears 



23 



as he thought of the noble fight they had fought for 
the holiest of causes. Often did he pray in the " Holy 
of Holies " that the God of Battles, the God of Justice, 
would avenge their wrongs and restore them to their 
rightful possessions, restore them to their bleeding 
country, give them back the crown and sceptre of 
Ireland. 

The last hours of the great Hugh O'Neill were 
cheered by the presence of Archbishop Lombard and 
Florence Conry, Archbishop of Armagh. " O'Neill ! " 
"Conry!" "Lombard!" with uncovered head and rev- 
erential, loving breath, I speak your glorious trinity of 
names. Oh, fragments of Ireland's scattered glory 1 
" Oh, shamrock from the Irish shore ! " may your 
memory forever flourish in Irish hearts ! may your pic- 
ture remain forever before Erin's eyes, as a symbol of 
the unity and love that should ever exist among Irish 
exiles, as a symbol of the friendship that should ever 
reign among Irish chief s and Irish Prelates! * "O'Neill!'* 
" Conry ! " " Lombard ! " patriots, true heroes, noble 
champions of Ireland's Faith and Ireland's freedom, if 
ever I forget the land you loved, the creed you cher- 
ished, let my right hand forget its cunning ; if ever 
I do not speak kindly and respectfully and lovingly 
of the altars at which you knelt, of the shrines and 
temples in which you adored and received strength 
and consolation, may the heavens grow dark above my 



* When will some great Irish artist give the world a picture of these re- 
nowned men? 



24 



head, may the flowers at my feet perish, may my tongue 
cleave to the roof of my mouth ! 

Father Meehan, when referring to the deaths of the 
O'Donels, the Baron of Duncannon, MacMahon, Cucon- 
naught Maguire, Maurice O'Multully, O'Donel's secre- 
tary, and O'CarroU, their physician, says : " We can 
easily imagine how bitterly O'Neill was afflicted by the 
loss of those who were so dear to him, and above all, by 
that of the Baron of Duncannon, whom he regarded as 
the staff of his declining years, and his successor to 
the ancient Gaelic title. Often and often would the 
grand old prince — for he was then in his sixty-eighth 
year — toil up the steep ascent that leads to the church 
Montorio; and no day passed that did not see him 
there, kneeling on the tombs of his son and kinsmen, 
praying for their everlasting peace. Happily, as God 
would have it, he lacked not men who were able and will- 
ing to console him; for under the same roof with him 
lived Peter Lombard, Archbishop of Armagh, and in 
the convent of Montorio, Florence Conry, then Arch- 
bishop-designate of Tuam, both of whom spared no pains 
to reconcile him to his terrible bereavement. Both were 
eminent for piety and learning; and the portrait of the 
latter, evidencing, as it does, unmistakable traits of 
firmness, penetration and profound thought, shows that 
he was the person to whom O'Neill would have turned 
for counsel at such a crisis." 

Sir William Drury, writing to "Lord President of 
Munster, the Queen's principal Secretary of State," 
thus expresses himself in the month of April, 1577, with 



25 



regard to tlie students of Louvain : " The students of 
Xiouvain, and come from thence. They are the meerest 
traitors and breeders of treachery that liveth." 

No doubt but this same slander was repeated ten 
thousand times over during the Penal Days with regard 
to the Irish students who studied at Madrid, Naples, 
Bordeaux, Toulouse and Nantes. 

No native chief was more zealous in the cause of the 
^' great Kebellion of 1641" than Father Henry Fitz- 
•simon. He knew the state that his country ought to 
hold among the free nations of the earth, and he saw 
her crushed beneath the iron heel of a foreign des- 
potism. He knew that she was blessed in her rich soil, 
in her favorable station, and in her virtuous and strong- 
bodied people, yet he beheld her poor and almost starv- 
ing. New shackles were daily forged for the Irish na- 
tional rights, new dangers were prepared for the na- 
tional faith. The patriotic priest, the zealous mission- 
ary, the devoted son of the Church, saw with pain that 
the leaders in the English Parliament were determined 
to rob the Catholic Irish of their land, to level their al- 
tars, and to abolish their holy religion. He, therefore, 
thought with all the other devoted ecclesiastics of the 
Church of St. Patrick that his country should fling the 
standard of revolt to the breezes that swept from ocean, 
and sea, and lake, and river. In this feeling he exerted 
his oratory to rouse his people to arms. He infused in- 
to all who heard him his own noble and patriotic sen- 
timents. The Catholic lords of the pale, the chiefs of 
the old race, the fiery-eyed clan, idolized the eloquent 



26 



and venerable priest who thrilled them through and 
through as he called upon them to draw the sword in 
defence of their altars, their homes, their freedom, their 
lives. A glorious band rose up for the defence of Faith 
and Country. Among them stand in the front rank 
Eoger Moore, of Ballynagh; Cornelius Macguire, of In- 
niskillen; Sir Phelim O'Niel, Lord Gormanstown, Mac- 
mahon, O'Quin, O'Hanlon, Macginnis, O'Eeilly, Byrne, 
Owen Roe O'Niel, General Preston, Barry Garrett, 
Burke and O'Donnel. Blessed and praised forever be 
the Catholic prelates and divines who met at Kilkenny 
in convention on May 10th, 1642. Their conduct is the 
best answer ever given to those who accuse the clergy 
of Ireland of want of love for the fair land that bore 
them. 

Father Fitzsimon, on account of the encouragement 
he gave the insurgents, was an object of particular 
hatred to the victorious oppressors of his country. They 
marked him out for destruction. He, therefore, fled for 
shelter to the loneliest places. Woods and mountains 
now became his dwelling, and he was frequently obliged 
to change them through fear of the heartless English 
soldiers. At length, in the beginning of 1643, worn out 
with the fatigues his advanced age was so ill able to 
bear, he retired for refuge to a shepherd's cot, no better 
than a hovel, situated in a bog. His only bed was a pad 
of straw, which was frequently wet with the rain, which 
the shattered and imperfect state of the walls freely ad- 
mitted, and the damp which rose from the morass. Yet 
amid this scene of misery, with no one comfort around 



27 



him, he preserved his cheerfulness unimpaired, and was 
always ready to console others in their misery, continu- 
ing still to instruct them and their children. He who 
had forsaken the world and its vanities to walk the 
royal way of the cross could not but be happy in the 
midst of his sufferings; he who had made the vow of 
poverty in Louvain and Rome could not but feel con- 
tented when he found himself badly housed, poorly 
clad, and without sufficient food to supply the wants of 
nature. Yet it is sad to think that a learned, holy and 
venerable priest should be so situated. 

Father Fitzsimon, however, was unable long to sup- 
port such extremes of misery. His constitution had 
been injured by fastings, long journeys by land and sea, 
dreary toils and vigils, and incarcerations. Nature at 
length giving way, he was conveyed with some difficulty 
by his faithful and loving flock to a more comfortable 
situation. Amid the tears and sighs and blessings of 
his loved and loving people, this worthy son of St. 
Ignatius, this true apostle, this lover and able defender 
of his race and creed, this genuine Irish priest passed 
from earth to heaven. From his throne in joy he denies 
the charges brought against the most devoted, the most 
faithful, the most patriotic body on earth — the Irish 
clergy. Shame upon the ignorance that would doubt 
the patriotism of the living successors of Collins, of 
Bishop French, of Fitzsimon, of Wadding, of Columb- 
kille, and St. Laurence O'Toole ! 

An informer wrote to a Captain Stanley as follows : 
"I am deceived or I told you by mouth, about one Mar- 



28 



CIO, and his speech unto a Jesuit of our nation, now in 
Flanders, named Henry Fitzsimons, to wit, this Jesuit, 
discussing with the aforesaid Marcio of the facility to 
conquer Ireland, and the commodity therein to extend 
fame and fortunes this nobleman, moved with such in- 
terest, gave to understand unto said Jesuit that he most 
willingly would engage himself and his fortunes for the 
like enterprise, so that he could have the concurrence 
of some in the country, or see possibility for him to pre- 
vail by any other means." 

" On board the Spanish fleet, in company with Oviedo," 
writes Cardinal Moran, " two remarkable men had sailed 
for the shores of Ireland. One was F. James Archer, 
an Irish Jesuit, and the other was Dominick Collins, a 
lay-brother of the same order. Father Archer had al- 
ready labored for some years on the Irish mission ; and 
a letter addressed to an agent of the Roman court in 
England, about 1598, thus sketched his character : — 
* Father Archer, alone, is a greater comfort to his Irish 
countrymen than even a considerable reinforcement of 
troops. I am a witness that his presence was almost 
more serviceable to the cause than anything else ; for, 
at his nod, the hearts of men were united and bound 
together, not only in the district of Berehaven and Mun- 
ster, but in the greater part of the whole kingdom.' " 
The spirit that fired the Irish Franciscans may be un- 
derstood from the following extract from a letter of 
their Provincial, Very Rev. Father Antony Geoghegan, 
addressed to Father Wadding : — " Such alacrity do I 
find in our brethren for the holy cause, that instead of 



29 



spurring I must hold them hard with bit and bridle ; 
since, instead of being satisfied with the spiritual com- 
bat, they gird themselves with carnal weapons and do 
battle for God and country. Another benefit has been 
bestowed on Ireland by our order ; for it was on the 
feast of St. John Capristraao* that our nob'e Irish he- 
roes made their first attempt to liberate their country 
from worse than Egyptian bondage. Hence many have 
chosen that saint as their tutelar in this holy war ; and 
I believe that the Catholic cause would be greatly ad- 
vantaged by placing the whole country under his spe- 
cial invocation, and inducing our apostolic father to 
grant us the indulgences formerly given to the Crusa- 
ders. Dispensations in cases of irregularity should also 
be obtained, so that our friars may have no reason to 
dread censures for enrolling themselves in those holy 
battalions. I would also suggest that excommunication 
shall be pronounced on those who abet our adversaries, 
and do not act to the best of their ability in forwarding 
the Catholic cause. As for the actual state of this coun- 
try, nothing can be worse. Nevertheless, we deem it an 
honorable duty to perform heroic actions and endure 
every manner of hardship for love of Christ. We have 
to deal with implacable enemies, the false Scots and the 
factious and cruel English Puritans, who do not spare 
age or sex. There is no chance of peace, so that we 
must fight to the end for our religion and homes. We 
have no alternative but to conquer or be conquered. 



* A Franciscan who, crucifix in hand, marched with the army of Corvin 
against the Turks, and helped to defeat them on the Danube, A. D. 1456. 



30 



Either we or our enemies must be driven out of this 
land, which is not large enough to hold Irish and En- 
glishmen. So long as Babylonian England and perfidi- 
ous Scotland have the upper hand, so long will they 
continue to crush the Irish. This is the reason why we 
must urge foreign princes to sustain us ; and for this 
object two agents will shortly be sent hence — father 
Peter Darcy to the French court, and our father Ever- 
ard to the Vatican, with letters sealed with the new 
seal, whose legend is, ' For God, king, and country, the 
Irish United.' Said agents are as yet detained by order 
of the supreme council. Good father, relax not your 
well-known efforts to procure us arms and munitions, 
as our wants are great." 

" Hugh O'Neil, Earl of Tyrone," wrote Father Moran, 
now Cardinal, " was engaged in his last great struggle 
in defence of his hereditary rights. This chieftain had 
learned the merits of Peter Lombard, and wished to 
avail himself of his presence in Rome to entrust to his 
charge the interests of Ireland, commissioning him to 
plead the cause of the Confederate Princes at the court 
of the Sovereign Pontiff. Thus it became his pleasing 
duty to announce to his Holiness the many successes of 
the Irish arms which marked the close of the sixteenth 
century. The victories of the Yellow Ford and the Cur- 
lew mountains were hailed with acclamations in the 
Eternal City ; the guns of St. Angelo conveyed the joy- 
ous intelligence to the citizens, and the Te Deum was 
solemnly chanted in St. Peter's. More than once, aid in 
arms and money was forwarded to Ireland through the 



31 



Spanish nuncio ; pontifical letters, too, were addressed 
to the Irish people exhorting them to join the Catholic 
army, and conferring the same privileges, blessings, and 
indulgences, as had been enjoyed bj^ the crusaders of 
old, on all those who would assist O'Neil and his arm}-, 
the champions, and assertors of the Catholic faith.' " — 
Brief, 18th April, 1600. 

The success that attended the efforts of the Earl of 
Tyrone caused such gratification at Rome, that the Holy 
Pather wrote a letter of congratulation to him. The 
letter begins thus : 

" To our beloved son, the noble Prince Hugh O'Neil, Com- 
Tnander and Captain- General of the Catholic Army in 
Ireland. 

" Beloved Son ant) Noble Lord, Health and Apostolic 
Blessing. 

" We have learned from the letter of your Excellency, 
as well as from the information orally communicated to 
us by our beloved son, Peter Lombard, Provost of 
Cambray, that the holy league which you and many 
other princes and chieftains and leading noblemen of 
that kingdom have, in the goodness of God, been led 
to establish among yourselves, still continues in the 
cement of charity and goes on increasing; and that, by 
the aid and might of the same Lord of Hosts, you have 
on divers occasions been successful in battle against 
the English — those apostates from the Church and 
from the Faith. Great pleasure in the Lord have we 
received from this intelligence, and offered up our 
thanks to that God, the Father of mercies, who has 



32 



still left to Himself in that kingdom many thousands 
that have not bent the knee to Baal. For these have 
never gone after impious heresies and profane novel- 
ties, but, on the contrary, fight bravely in detestation 
of them, for the inheritance of their fathers, for the 
preservation of the faith, for the maintenance of integ- 
rity and unity with the Church, which is One, Catholic 
and Apostolic, out of which there is no salvation. We 
praise, dear son, the excellent spirit of piety and brav- 
ery manifested by yourself and by the princes and 
all others who, having engaged in this league and 
confederacy with you, shrink not from any dangers 
whatsoever for the glory of God, and prove and openly 
profess themselves worthy descendants and proper suc- 
cessors of their ancestors — men eminently famous for 
their warlike bravery, zeal for the Catholic religion and 
glorious renown. Preserve, children, such a spirit — 
preserve your unanimity and concord ; and God Al- 
mighty, the God of harmony and peace shall be with 
you, and fight for you, and will prostrate, as He hath 
done before, His enemies before your face. 

"And as for ourselves, loving and cherishing as we do, 
in the bowels of Jesus Christ, your Excellency, and all 
of you who imitate the faith and glory of your fore- 
fathers we cease not to beseech our God for your pros- 
perity and welfare, and we are and ever will be, inter- 
ested in you and for you, so far as God will enable us 
to be thus minded. And when there shall be occasion 
we will write effective letters to the Catholic kings and 



33 



princes, our children, that they may support you and 
your cause with all the aid in their power." 

The Holy Father then promises to send a special 
Nuncio from Himself and the Holy See. He also im- 
parts an Apostolic Benediction to O'Neill and his de- 
voted companions and followers. " Finally," the Pontiff 
says: "We pray that He may send His angels to be 
around your path, direct your pious efforts with His 
heavenly grace, and evermore defend you with the right 
hand of His power." 

" Together with this Brief," says Cardinal Moran, in 
his Memoir of Most Eev. Peter Lombard, " was des- 
patched a letter from Cardinal Cinzio Aldobrandini, 
whose words give abundant proof of the warm sym- 
pathy which was cherished by the authorities in Rome, 
for the Irish princes. He not only congratulates O'Neil 
on his victories and on the fame which he had acquired 
throughouc all Christendom, but even adds : ' Would 
to God it were in my power to have a part in your merit 
and your glory. How readily would I share your perils, 
and offer my life and my blood in so holy and so just 
a cause ! ' " 

We have in this book more than once alluded to the 
Indulgences granted by Sovereign Pontiffs to those 
who were fighting for the liberties of Ireland; we there- 
fore think it right to insert the following letter, which 
ought to be printed in characters of gold : 

" Gregory XIIL, to the archbishops, bishops, and other 
prelates, as also to the Catholic princes, earls, barons, clergy, 
nobles and people of Ireland, health and apostolic benediction : 



34 



" A few years ago we exhorted you by our letters, 
when you took up arms to defend your liberties and 
rights, under the leadership of James Geraldine, of 
happy memory, to be all of one mind, and to give a 
ready and strenuous aid to the chieftain who, with in- 
expressible ardor, desired to free j^ou from that yoke 
which is imposed on you by the English heretics; and 
that you might the more promptly and efficaciously join 
with him in this enterprise, we conceded to all those 
who, with due contrition, had confessed their sins, full 
j)ardon and remission, and the same indulgence as was 
imparted by the Roman Pontiffs to those who fought 
against the Turks for the recovery of the Holy Land, 
provided they should enrol themselves under the ban- 
ners of the aforesaid James, the champion and defender 
of the Catholic faith, or aid him by counsel, provisions, 
arms, or other things necessary for the sustenance of 
his troops. Lately, however, we have learned, with 
most profound sorrow, that James fell in battle, bravely 
:fighting for the faith, and that our beloved son, John 
Geraldine, has succeeded him, who has already given 
ieroic proofs of his devotion to the Catholic religion. 
'We, therefore, with all possible affection, exhort, urge, 
and solicit each and every one of you to unite with the 
said John, your commander, and aid Jiim and his army 
against the aforesaid heretics, as you would have aided 
the aforesaid James, if he were living, ^'e therefore 
impart the above plenary indulgence to each and every 
one of you, provided you shall first have confessed and 
communicated, and given aid, by every means in youi* 



35 



power, to the general-in-chief, John, and, in case of his 
demise, which Grod avert, to James, his brother, which 
concession shall continue as long as the brothers John 
and James shall live and carry on this war against the 
heretics, etc. Given at Eome the 13th day of May, 
If 80, the eight of our pontificate." 

Thomas Davis wrote in the anguish of his generous 
soul, — 

** Oil! weep those days, the penal days, 
When Ireland hopelessly complained." 

For our part, looking on the bright side of the pic- 
ture, looking upon the glory of the heroes of that " dark 
time of cruel wrong," we feel rather inclined to sing in 
the following, prouder, happier strain : — 



"Weep not beside a martyr's grave, 

Weep not o'er hunted virtue true ; 
Weep not the hour that proved man brave — 

Though blood lent hill and dale its hue. 
Why should we weep the penal times 

That showed our country's love of Eight? 
Let us forget the tyrants' crimes, 

And sing the stars of Erin's night. 



When peaceful bloomed our garden land, 
The hermit and the monk arose, 

And every vale heard virgin-band 
Sing love of God, at evening's close ; 



36 



But when our air with war was red, 
From cells and caves Truth's soldiers came. 

And every rock a glory shed 

Around some Irish martyr's name. 



We must not weep the penal days 

That sanctified our hills and plains ; 
We must not shudder when we gaze 

At men that feared nor death nor chains. 
In blood and tears, 'neath penal laws, 

Saint Erin's heart was purified ; 
For holy Faith and Freedom's cause, 

Our martyred nation grandly died. 



37 



IRISH PKOFESSOKS IN PENAL DAYS. 



Talent, I was going to say genius, seems very often to 
be the birthright of Irishmen. The sons of Ireland may 
be robbed of every material thing — of land, of money, 
of home — ^but of kingly brains, of poetry, of wit, of elo- 
quence, not even the powers of darkness can plunder 
them. The storms may cloud the skies above their 
heads, but the lightning-flash of their genius will be all 
tlie brighter for the gloom that surrounds them. All 
through the Penal Days, that blackest epoch in Ire- 
land's history, we find the lamp of Irish learning burn- 
ing in every school in Europe ; we find Irish students 
filling distinguished chairs of philosophy and theology 
in every famous university on the Old Continent. Those 
who sneer at Irish ignorance, those who feel ashamed of 
their Irish lineage, would do well to read the following 
roll of honor. 

Dominick Lynch, a native of Galway, of the " marble 
gates," was professor of Divinity in the University of 
Seville for over twenty years. He deserved to be ranked 
by Nicholas Antonio, in his Biblioteca Espanola, among 
the great authors of a land that produced a Cervantes, 
a Caldron, a Lopez de Vega, and a Fray Luis de Leon. 
Michael Moore, a Dublin student, was a distinguished 
professor in his day. He taught philosophy and rhe- 



88 



toric in the Grassan College, and was made by Rome a 
Censor of Books — an honor he well deserved by his 
learning, and love of religion. For some years he acted 
as rector of the college at Montefiascone, and was twice 
chosen as rector of the renowned University of Paris. 
The French savants never wearied of conferring honors 
on him. By them he was appointed Principal of the 
College of Navarre, and Begins Professor of philosophy 
and Hebrew. Among " les Eecteurs Magnifiques " of 
the University of Louvain, which at one time numbered 
thousands of the most gifted students of Europe, and 
had over forty colleges connected with it, we note John 
Sinnich, a Corkman, and Thomas Stapleton, a true- 
hearted son of the little town of Fethard, in gallant 
Tipperary. Waterford, "the most Catholic city" of 
Catholic Ireland, furnished more than its share of talent 
during the long night of persecution. But among the 
most brilliant, the most faithful, the most patriotic of 
"Waterford families, was that of the Waddings. 

Father Luke Wadding, one of the grandest charac- 
ters in Irish history, was renowned as a writer, and was 
well-known as a great and accomplished professor in 
the colleges of his Order at Liria, Lisbon, Coimbra, 
Salamanca and Home. Father Peter Wadding was 
highly esteemed as a lecturer in Louvain, and was hon- 
ored by being chosen as chancellor of the Universities 
of Prague and Gratz. Richard Wadding, of the Austin 
Eremites, professed theology at Coimbra. Several other 
members of the Wadding family were distinguished on 
the Continent, but for the sake of brevity, I pass over 



39 



them in silence. John Baptist Hackett, whose early 
days were passed in obscurity " at the foot of Slievena- 
mon" — so dear to poor Charles J. Kickham — rose to 
eminence as a theological professor at Milan, Naples, 
and Kome— "the City of the Soul." Father Stephen 
"White, who imbibed his love of the sublime and beauti- 
ful, whose patriotic fires were fanned into a white heat 
on the banks of the Suir, not far from " rare Clonmel," 
was a learned writer, and taught with marked success 
at a Jesuit college at Salamanca, as also at Dillingen, 
Pont-a-Mousson, and the new University of Ingoldstadt. 
He was one of the greatest of Irish hagiologists, and 
helped very much both Colgan and the other Francis- 
cans of Louvain who devoted themselves to the collect- 
ing and arranging of the scattered and mouldy frag- 
ments of Celtic history. White was undoubtedly a 
great man — a savant of whom any country might well be 
proud. In some old books in Louvain I found mention 
made of Professor O'Halloran. This student had a 
strange, a romantic career. He reminds one of some of 
the Irish war-correspondents of our own time. He fol- 
lowed literature as a profession, and could tell stranger 
things about his travels than even Oliver Goldsmith 
himself. His proficiency in languages was extraordin- 
ary. He wrote good poetry in English, and, on the au- 
thority of Father Victor De Buck, the great Bollandist, 
I state that he composed remarkably creditable Flemish 
verses. He was in Belgium about the time of the inva- 
sion of the French revolutionists. O'Halloran taught 
literature in the college of the Holy Trinity, Louvain. 



40 



This was the college in which Daniel O'Connell studied 
before going to St. Omer's. It is now in the possession 
of the Josephites. On one of the doors is scratched the 
name of Daniel O'Connell. Though I was assured that 
young O'Connell himself inscribed his name on the 
door, still I feel a little skeptical on this point. 

But to go on. Patrick Comerford, of the city of 
" Meagher of the Sword," taught rhetoric for f oui years 
in the Austin Hermit's Convent of Angra, the capital of 
Terceira, in the Azores. He occupied a chair of the- 
ology at Brussels, and on passing through Florence, the 
far-famed Academy delta Crusca enrolled him among its 
members, and conferred on him the degree of Doctor of 
Philosophy. Dominick McGuire, of the princely house 
of Fermanagh, x)btained by Public Concursus the profes- 
sorship of theology in the Convent of St. Mary Sanitatis 
at Naples, and continued for twenty-two years to lecture 
with great success and applause. Hugh McCaghwell, 
the friend of "the O'Neils," and a very fine Gaelic 
scholar, taught theology at Salamanca, at which place 
he earned the character of a ripe student, " acute, grave, 
modest, and sublime." Peter Lombard — not "the Mas- 
ter of Sentences " — Archbishop of Armagh, became not 
only a renowned professor in the old University of Lou- 
vain, when that school was at the summit of its glory, 
but was appointed by Pope Paul Y. as President of the 
famous Co-ngregation " De Auxiliis." So important did 
the Sovereign Pontiff consider the discussions of this 
Congregation, that he himself was frequently present at 
them, accompanied by no less than seven Cardinals. " I 



41 



cannot be ignorant of our illustrious Primate, Peter 
Lombard, so clearly sbining even in the theatre of the 
world," wrote Fitzsimon, ''if not above, yet among the 
brightest Prelates, for rare learning, episcopal mildness 
and integrity of life." 

Father Henry Fitzsimon, " the pillar of the Irish 
Church " during years of darkness and sorrow, the bold 
champion of Ireland's ancient Faith and Altars, sat at 
Louvain in the professorial chair of his holy and illus- 
trious master, Leonard Lessius — one of the brightest 
and fairest ornaments of the Jesuit Order. Father 
Hugh Ward, of the Franciscan Order, the noblest of 
Irish hagiologists, was considered on the European 
Continent the best skilled of his time in the subtleties 
of Scotus, while Florence Conry, another Franciscan, 
the Founder of St. Anthony's Convent, Louvain, the 
personal friend of Philip III. of Spain, was generally 
regarded as more conversant in the writings of St. 
Augustine than any of his contemporaries. James 
Arthur, a fervent son of St. Dominick, distinguished 
himself in Spain and Portugal. 

Father Richard Stanihurst, uncle of James Usher and 
kinsman of the martyred Jesuit poet, Robert Southwell, 
became famous for his learning in France and through 
the Low Countries. He was, after the death of his wife, 
chaplain to Albert, Archduke of Austria, and Isabella, 
the Infanta of Spain. Camden styles him: " Eruditissi- 
mus ille nobihs Bichardus Stanihurst." "Robert Turner, 
a first-rate orator," says Dr. Lynch, "thus addresses 
Stanihurst: 'The two goddesses have lent you their 



42 



hues: Juno, sweetness; Minerva, eloquence. You have 
alighted upon this orb with such beauty, or rather 
favor, in the eyes and ears of men, that you are pro- 
nounced a Demosthenes, not by the old woman of 
Athens merely, but by those to whom art has given elo- 
quence, and nature the keenest perception. You have 
taken your place among the crowned votaries of the 
pleasant and the more recondite muse; you walk with 
the Scaligers " ' etc., etc. Two of his sons, William and 
Peter, both of whom made their novitiate as Jesuit 
novices with Blessed John Berchmans at Mechlin, were 
men of great ability. Peter died young in Spain. 
William had, for over thirty years, charge of the great 
Sodality at Louvain. He was much, admired as a spirit- 
ual Father, and was esteemed the best Flemish preacher 
of his time. He died a martyr of charity in attending 
to the plague-stricken in Louvain. The present writer 
paid a visit, some years ago, to the Mechlin Novitiate, 
the religious home of Blessed Berchmans, the Stani- 
hursts, and other devoted youths, and found that Bel- 
gian Liberalism had changed it into a theatre. The 
generous reader may imagine his disappointment and 
indignation. 

Bishop Dermot O'Hurley, who was arrested at Cashel, 
and who subsequently suffered so much for the Faith, 
was at one time a loved and esteemed professor of 
Canon Law at the University of Louvain. Edmond 
O'Dwyer, a native of " the City of the Broken Treaty, '* 
made a brilliant collegiate course at Rouen, and won a 
name for profundity at the great Sorbonne, where he 



43 



studied theology. Rheims, always jealous of its honors, 
conferred on him the degree of Doctor of Divinity. 
Thomas Fleming, one of the sons of William, the six- 
teenth Baron of Slane, taught theology in the school of 
Aix-la-Chapelle. Archbishop Talbot, who was so long 
confined in Dublin Castle, that cesspool of English cor- 
ruption in Ireland, was highly rated as a professor of 
Moral Theology at the Jesuit College of Antwerp. 
Joseph n., Emperor of Germany, frequently attended 
the classes of Dr. Lanigan, the Irish historian. Not a 
few of the Hanoverian nobles and princes, according to 
Brennan, received their education under this devoted 
and distinguished Irishman. Tamburini, who admin- 
istered the University of Pavia, in which Dr. Lanigan 
was one of the professors, was accustomed to designate 
him as the "pillar and brightest ornament of the estab- 
lishment." Father Francis Slingsby, of the Society* of 
Jesus, who was so much loved and admired by Cardinal 
Barbareni, was the eldest son of Sir Francis Slingsby, 
Knight, and was one of the most distinguished mathe- 
maticians of his time. 

Maurice Wise, a "Waterf ord boy, was professor at the 
Roman College. David Woulfe, a native of Limerick, 
was rector of the Modena College, Papal Nuncio, pris- 
oner, a writer, and was classed by Stanihurst, who 
wrote a history of his country, among "the learned 
men and authors of Ireland. He was a most distin- 
guished divine, and a man of great reputation for austere 
sanctity. Christopher Holywood, from Artane, County 
Dublin, was an ardent patriot and a great scholar. One 



44 



of his books was condemned from the throne. He was 
an able professor of Philosophy and Theology at Padua, 
and at several other famous schools. Bryan O'Carney, 
of " Cashel of the Kings," took away the highest honors 
of Douay. He was professor of Greek and Rhetoric, a 
writer, a fervid preacher, and gave most successful mis- 
sions in Ireland. Patrick Lenan, from Drogheda, the 
scene of Cromwell's carnage, was an accomplished theo- 
logian. He was a graduate of Oxford, an M. A. of 
Douay, and a B. D. of Louvain. He was for six years a 
pupil of Stapleton, the great English controversalist, 
and had Leonard Lessius as professor. James Everard, 
born in Fethard, was professor of Theology in Portugal. 
John Lombard, of Waterf ord, was professor of Theology 
at Ipres and Antwerp. Bobert Queitrot, called in Por- 
tugal Cotinko, was an able professor at Coimbra in its 
brightest days. William McCrach, known in Portugal 
as Da Cruz, was professor of Theology and Philosophy, 
and rector at Lisbon. "William Malone, who is stated 
by Nathaniel Southwell to have been born in Dublin,* 
but who is claimed by others as a native of England, 
was rector both in Bome and Seville. Father Hogan, 
the distinguished L-ish Jesuit, proves to my satisfaction 
that Malone was an Irishman. Brother Henry Foley, 
editor of the English Records, for whom I have the 
greatest personal regard as a religious and a writer I 
think is mistaken on this point. But I will not now 
stop to dispi^.te the question. Granting that Malone 



Sir James Ware and Harris say Malone Tvas born in Dublin. 



45 



was English, I have more undoubted Irishmen to speak 
of in connection with mj subject than I can make i^lace 
for in one article, or that my readers would wish to 
hear of for the present. Paul Sherlock was rector of 
Salamanca and Compostella, and was appointed Censor 
of Books by the Inquisition of Spam. 

George Dillon, son of the Earl of Roscommon, and 
"uncle of the poet Earl," taught philosophy and ma- 
thematics in Belgium. Peter Redan, from "Royal 
Meath," was rector of Salamanca, was acknowledged to 
be an excellent Greek and Hebrew scholar, and was 
professor of Scripture and of Controversies at Sala- 
manca. Simon Jordan was rector of Polotzk, in Poland. 
Ignatius Tellin was a great litterateur, and was for some 
time professor of philosophy at the University of In- 
golstadt. Peter Talbot calls him "a miracle of learning." 
James Relly is praised by Dr. Peter Talbot. He de- 
fended theses ex univey^sa theologia in the Roman College 
in the year 1667. Michael White was rector of the 
Madeira College for years. Thomas Brennan, of Dublin, 
professed theology in the Grand College de Poitiers. 
John St. Leger, from the banks of the Suir, taught 
Humanities to Jesuit students in Spain during five 
years. Thomas Weldon, of Drogheda, was professor of 
Philosophy and Rhetoric in France. James Power was 
professor of Philosophy at the Jesuit College of Paris. 
Bryan O'Kelly publicly defended theses in philosophy 
at the University of Evora. Joseph Ignatius O'Halloran, 
brother of the famous Dr. Sylvester O'Halloran, was 
professor of Scholastic Theology at La Rochelle. James 



46 



O'Connell was master of Humanities in the Roman Col- 
lege, and was for years chaplain and secretary of 
Hinuccini, who treated him with singular courtesy. 
Richard Lynch, of Galway, taught Theology for twenty- 
five years at Yalladolid and at the University of Sala- 
manca. "He was," says a recent writer, " one of the first 
three Jesuits honored with the degree of D. D., by the 
University of Salamanca. He was the admiration of 
this school, and was so subtle, brilliant and eloquent 
in the chair of Theology, that he was constantly called 
on by the acclamation of his hearers to prolong his 
lectures." 

Henry Fitzsimon, no mean judge, in the Preface to 
his remarkable book on the Mass, thus refers to Bishop 
David Rothe and Thomas Deis : " Of two, among others, 
for future imitation and present admiration, I will 
make mention, although I hazard to incur thereby 
their grievous indignation. Both are Graduates, yea. 
Doctors of Divinity in the two most famous universities 
of Christendom. Both are, for piety, virtue, edification, 
sufficiency, if not incomparable in all the nation, are yet 
in the highest rank of the foremost. Both are pillars 
and planters, ornaments and upholders of our country's 
religion and credit, and are held among natives and 
foreigners in great authority, love and reputation." 

These are some of the proud Irish names that rush 
upon us to-night and " star the field of memorj^" They 
are the names that help to shed a radiance and a glory 
around the brow of our own " loved Island of Sorrow." 
We love them, we cherish them, and will not easily let 
them drop into the coldness and darkness of oblivion. 



47 



A HYI^IN TO FAITH. 



O! holy Faith ; O! Sacred Light, 
Forever beam on me ; 

like a star, shine on my night. 
And light me o'er life's sea. 

The deep I sail is fierce and dark, 
A wide, unbounded way, 

1 cannot steer my wandering bark 

"Without thy saving ray. 

The shore is far away, I know, 
And rocks and shoals are nigh, 

Among a thousand wrecks I go, 
O! star, my starless sky. 

I sail, and sail, but know not where — 
Before me, death and night ; 

O! holy Faith, now hear my prayer, 
And show thy blessed light. 

Shine on the waves that 'round me roar, 

Shine on the far-off strand, 
Be thou my light-house by the shore. 

My sunshine on the land. 



48 
LINES TO IKISH STUDENTS. 



I. 

O! tell me, students— ye of Irish blood — 
Are ye never sad in gay France or Spain? 

Do ye never sit in a lonely mood 
In the classic halls of renowned Louvain ? 

II. 

Do you never wish for a dear old friend 
To unload your hearts of their hopes and fears ? 

Do ye never wish for a speedy end 

To the long, hard chain of your exiled years ? 

in. 

Do ye never think of the Shannon's tide, 
Or the lovely banks of the Boyne or Suir ? 

Do ye never feel in your hearts a pride 
At the thought of Erin, so fair and pure ? 

IV. 

Do ye never dream of Old Ireland's hills ? 

When the stars light up soft Italian skies? 
Do ye never weep over Erin's ills 

When ye hear that in sorrow deep she lies ? 

V. 

When dear Christmas comes, or the Easter bells 
Speak aloud from each lofty tower and dome, 

Do ye never sigh, in your foreign cells. 
For the love and joy of your Irish Home? 



49 



THE HOIVIES OF OLD TIPPEEAEY. 



I will not pray for wealth or power. 

For fleeting fame or glory ; 
I will not pray that I may live 

In Ireland's sacred story : 
But I will ask my Patron Saint, 

And my sweet Mother, Mary, 
To guard, and bless, and ever love 

The Homes of Old Tipperary. 

I'll ask a blessing on the Suir, — 

The river of my childhood ; 
I'll ask a blessing on loved scenes — 

On mountain, field, and wild-wood ; 
To-night I'll ask my Patron Saint, 

And my sweet Mother, Mary, 
To gladden with their brightest smiles 

The Homes of old Tipperary. 

I've wandered much in foreign lands, 

But still my heart is swelling 
With all its love for early friends, 

And for my boyhood's dwelling ; 
So now I'll pray my Patron Saint, 

And my sweet Mother, Mary, 
To guard, and bless, and love for me. 

The Homes of Old Tipperary. 



50 



miSH CHAPLAINS WITH THE lEISH BRIGADES. 



In Nothern Spain and Brittany, our brethren also dwell — 
O ! brave are the traditions of their fathers that they tell. 
The eagle and the crescent in the dawn of history pales, 
Before their fire, that seldom flags, and never wholly fails. 
One in name, and in fame 
Are the sea-divided Gaels. 

Since Strongbow's haughty standard was reflected in 
the waters of the Suir up to the time of the Yiolated 
Treaty, Iiish soldiers swelled the ranks of every Euro- 
pean Army. Some were to be found fighting under 
the banners of Russia, some under those of Spain 
and Austria, while a large number of them marched 
under the Fleur-de-lis of France. But it was immedi- 
ately after the Siege of Limerick that whole regiments 
of Irish soldiers were to be met in France and Spain and 
the Netherlands. 

This state of things, of necessity, opened a new field 
to the zeal of Irish priests. The Irish troops desired to 
have their own Soggartli Aroon by their side in the 
camp and on the battle-field. Hence wherever we find 
our Ii'ish soldiers there, too, we find our Irish Chap- 
lains. No battle was fought, no battle won, by the sons 
of L'eland, 

" From Dunkirk to Belgrade." 



51 



at which one of Erin's priests was not j^resent with the 
Crucifix in his hand. No soldier fell wounded on the 
gory ground above whom an Irish priest did not bend, 
to whom an Irish priest did not impart an Absolution. 

As we do not intend to make this a lengthy article we 
shall merely refer to a few of the Irish Continental 
Chaplains who easily come to our minds. Father Henry 
Fitzsimmon and Father Hugh MacCaghwell had much 
to do with the Irish soldiers stationed in the Low 
Countries. 

Of the last-named priest we may say here that he 
wrote some works in the Gaelic tongue, for the use of 
the regiment to which he was Chaplain. The name of 
Father James Archer, of Kilkenny, is one of the dearest 
in Ireland. The patriotic deeds of this Jesuit have 
been often made the theme of ballad and of song. The 
part he took in Ireland during the war of Tyrone is known 
to all. After having been chosen the first Rector of 
Salamanca, he became Chaplain to the Irish troops in 
the service of Spain. With the fleet sent to Ireland he 
also set sail. Father Francis Bray, of Clonmel, a man 
of great courage and piety, was Navy Chaplain in the 
service of Spain. He was killed by a cannon ball in a 
naval action between the Spaniards and Dutch in 1624. 
Father Peter McCarthy, who made his Novitiate at 
Mechlin with Blessed John Berchmans, was Chaplain- 
in-Chief, or Head Camp Missioner, in the Netherlands. 
Father James Fullam, a Dominican, who on two occa- 
sions was thrown into prison by the English, was made 
Chaplain to the regiment of the Duke of Berwick. He 



52 



filled his post faithfully, and was slain in a battle in the 
Milanese, between Prince Eugene, of Savoy, and the 
Duke of Yendome. Father Simon OTallon, of Galway, 
was appointed by the King of Portugal, not only to 
attend to the spiritual welfare of the soldiers, but like- 
wise to inspect the fortifications. Father Bryan 
McDavitt, a most talented priest, was Chaplain to 
Owen Roe. The Confederates used for national pur- 
poses a printing-press, which this Father had bought 
in France for the Irish Jesuits. Father William Boyton, 
a native of Cashel, was military Chaplain for some time 
in Holland. In an article on Dominicus de Bosario, we 
mention him as being slain while administering the 
last Sacraments to a dying soldier on the taking of 
the Rock of Cashel. The most reliable historians say 
that he was either cut down or shot, while hearing the 
Confession of a wounded soldier. Father Augustine 
Fitzgerald " was for many years Professor of Moral 
Theology at the Azores, and was dear to all for his 
amiability and virtue ; on his return home he was 
Chaplain in the Fleet which was sent against the 
French, and in which were many Irishmen; after sundry 
escapes he was exiled from Ireland, and in the College of 
Faro looked after the spiritual interests of his country- 
men." Father Lawrence Moore was in the Golden Fort 
with the Spanish soldiers when it was treacherously 
surrendered to the English Commander, Lord Grey. 
Father Moore, after being hanged, had his body cut 
into fragments. We read in the examination of James 
Roche, an Irishman of the Lord Roche's country. 



53 



" that in the Irish regiment there are many priests that 
have pay out of the army, amongst which McEgan, 
Flahir O'Mulconry and father Cusack are the chief est; 
the first whereof, in reputation, is not inferior to the 
other, but the other two are more stirring, and there- 
fore employed in directions and plots betwixt the 
Spanish Court and the Low Countries. The lord 
Henry hath another priest, named doctor Chamber- 
layne, who still attends him, and is used in the secrecy 
of all their works." Father Thomas Carve, a native of 
the county of Tipperary, spent much of his life at St. 
Stephen's Cathedral, Vienna. During his earlier years 
he was Chaplain to a regiment and traveled through 
many parts of Germany "during the War carried on 
there by Gustavus Adolphus, and continued after his 
death." The Colonel of the regiment to which he was 
attached was "Walter Devereux. Carve was a writer of 
some repute, and among his works he left an aocount 
of his experience as an army Chaplain. Father Law- 
rence O'Ferrall, a Dominican, who studied at Prague, in 
Bohemia, died piously, while serving as Chaplain to 
Berwick's regiment in Spain. O'Ferral is justly placed 
among the Confessors of Lreland, having twice suffered 
imprisonment for the sake of his religion. His life, if 
full of perils, had something of romance in it. On one 
occasion he was sent into Portugal as a German. His 
companion on this trip was the Archduke Charles, 
afterwards Emperor of the Romans. It is well known 
in this country that the first regularly settled priest in 
New York city, the Rev. Charles Whelan, an Irish 



54 



Franciscan, " served as Chaplain on board of one of tlie 
French ships belonging to Admiral De Grasse's fleet, 
engaged in assisting the cause of the colonies. Father 
Whelan was much esteemed by Lafayette, and was 
recommended by that soldier to the favor of the State. 



55 
THE SWOED ALONE. 

(A Song of 1641.) 



The Sword alone can right your wrongs, 
All brave men now must own it ; 
The Sword to Freedom's cause belongs, 
All history past has shown it. 

Then grasp the Sword, 

And say no word, 
Bright steel must plead for Ireland. 

In vain you weep, in rain you pray, 
Your masters smile, and heed not ; 
You sigh in vain for freedom's ray 
"While Erin's foemen bleed not. 

Then grasp the Sword, 

And say no word, 
Sharp steel must speak for Ireland. 

Fling out your banners to the sky, 
Place swords around them gleaming ; 
Your tyrant foes can scare deny 
What's asked by sabres beaming. 

Friends, grasp the sword. 

And say no word, 
Bare steel must plead for Ireland. 

With arms in hand now claim your right, 
Your arms alone can serve you ; 
Your Justice yet will vanquish Might, — 
But your arms first must nerve you. 

Unsheathe the Sword, 

And say no word. 
With steel now strike for Ireland. 



56 



IRISH CHAPLAINS IN EUROPEAN COURTS. 



Ieish monks and priests, from the very dawn of Chris- 
tianity on their Island, were found to be no strangers in 
the Courts of Europe. St. Virgilius was high in the es- 
teem of King Pepin, who much admired his mildness 
and erudition. Claude Clement, and John Scott, the 
famous " Wisdom-Sellers," who, according to the monk 
of St. Gall, were " men incomparably skilled in human 
learning and in the Holy Scriptures," were greatly be- 
loved by Charlemagne. Many Irish monks were to be 
met in the Court and Council of Charles, the Bald. We 
read that, long before, St. Columbanus enjoyed the hos- 
pitality of Clotharius, King of the Soissons, and that St. 
Kylian was honored by Gozbert, the ruling Prince of 
Eranconia. 

As we glance through the history of the Penal Times 
we are surprised to find how many of the poor exiled 
priests, who had been hounded from their country, be- 
came the friends and advisers of kings and queens. 
Doctor Plunket, a graduate of the College of the Lom- 
bards, Paris, and afterwards Bishop of Meath, was Al- 
moner to the beautiful, but ill-fated Marie Antoinette — 
the unhappy queen whose misfortunes inspired Burke 
and Carlyle to write two of the most eloquent passages 
to be found in all their works. Eather Florence Conry, 



57 



famed as a theologian, writer, and patriot, received 
many royal favors from different princes, and was held 
in the highest esteem by King Philip III., of Spain. 
Father Daniel O'Daly, alia^ Dominick a Rosario, a na- 
tive of Kerry, was so greatly admired for his learning, 
piety, and prudence by the King of Portugal that that 
sovereign sent him, in the year 1655, as his special Am- 
bassador to the brilliant Court of Louis XIV., on aifairs 
of great importance. Father O'Daly was also in great 
favor with the Spanish Kings, and was for a time Chap- 
lain to Portugal's Queen. The celebrated Peter Talbot, 
Archbishop of Dublin, possessed great influence with 
the Spanish Ministers in Flanders, and particularly with 
the Count de Fonsaldagna, who was the actual Gov- 
ernor of the country, though the Archduke Leopold en- 
joyed the title. While Charles II. was exiled at Co- 
logne, according to some respectable authorities, Father 
Talbot frequently visited his Majesty. After some con- 
versations on religion, the Irish priest had the consola- 
tion, it is stated, of converting England's King to the 
true Faith. Talbot was sent on an embassy to the Court 
of Spain, by his royal convert. On the marriage of the 
King of England to the Infanta of Portugal, Father 
Talbot was appointed one of the Queen's Almoners, 
officiated in her family, and became one of her house- 
hold. Though Catholic priests " were hunted down like 
wolves," during the Penal Days, both in England and 
Ireland, foreign Catholic Ambassadors frequently 
brought their Chaplains with them into the very heart 
of London. Father Gerard Bobinson, an Irish Priest, 



58 



and a student of Salamanca, was higli in favor among 
the royal personages at Madrid. After his ordination 
he was attached to the Spanish embassy in London. 
The patriotic Irish Jesuit, Father Archer, was Confessor 
to the Archduke of Austria. Father Bonaventure Baron, 
a native of Clonmel, and a distinguished classical 
scholar, was the historiographer of Cosmo III., Grand 
Duke of Tuscany. Father Nicholas Donnellan was also 
greatly loved and highly appreciated by the Grand 
Duke. Bartholomew Archer, of Kilkenny, was Almoner 
to the Duchess of Orleans. Dr. Thaddeus O'Eorke, Bi- 
shop of Killalla, held the post of Private Chaplain to 
Prince Eugene, of Savoy, and this illustrious com- 
mander, who held him in the highest esteem, presented 
him with a gold cross, and a ring set in diamonds, and 
obtained a letter from the Emperor Leopold, recom- 
mending the newly-consecrated Bishoj) to his ally, the 
Queen of England. Father Balph Corby was highly re- 
garded at the Court of France. While this holy man 
was confined in a horrible cell in Newgate prison, await- 
ing a terrible and disgraceful death, he was honored by 
a visit from the French Ambassador. Father Ignatius 
Brown, of Waterford, was a Jesuit of great literary 
ability, taught Belles Lettres in Castile, was made Rector 
of the Irish Seminary at Poictiers, and held other im- 
portant offices in different educational establishments. 
So highly was he rated for his virtue and learning that 
he was chosen as Confessor to the Queen of Spain. 

Is it not strange, we will ask here, that Irishmen, who 
are so often said by the English to be unfit to rule their 



59 



own little country, should so frequently be prayed to 
guide the kings and queens of Euroj)e? Is it not 
strange that the priests who were outlawed in their 
native land, who were hated and despised, and driven 
out of their country at the point of the sword, should 
rise, like Joseph, to such favor in the eyes of foreign rul- 
ers ? Is it not strange that for centuries Irishmen have 
had a large share in ruling the world as priests, writers, 
orators, warriors, and statesmen ? It is not so strange, 
after all, when we know that Englishmen are grossly 
mistaken in their estimate of Irish character, when we 
remember the brain, and blood, and Faith of Ireland's 
sons. 



60 
THE CKOSS. 



Tell me, strong Faith, I asked, 

"Which is the fairest tree ? 

Faith smiled, and said to me : 

** The fairest Tree to Faith— The Cross." 

u 
Tell me, bright hope, I cried, 
"What lights the skies for thee ? 
Hope shone, and answered me : 
"Hope's ever-burning star— The Cross." 

m 
Tell me, chaste Love, I breathed, 
What is thy mystery ? 
Love sighed, and whispered me : 
"Love's deepest mystery — The Cross." 

IV 

Tell me, pale grief, I said, 

"What can bring joy to thee? 

Grief wept, and said to me : 

"My only fount of bliss— The Cross." 

V 

O, budding Earth, I sang, 

"What makes all nature free ? 

Earth singing said to me : 

"My son, thou knowest well — The Cross." 

VI 

Sweet Peace, I touched my lyre, 

"What must my palm-branch be ? 

Peace thought, and answered me : 

"The Palm of all God's sons— The Cross." 



61 
WHEN NIGHT COMES ON. 



The hour is still, the scene is fair, 

But night comes on ; 

A glory mild fills sky and air, 

But night comes on ; 

With flowers the blooming trees are crowned, 

"With softest green the meads are bound. 

The woods shed music all around, 

But night comes on. 

n. 

Sad is my heart, and moist my eye, 

For Night comes on ; 
I watch the landscape, and I sigh. 

For Night comes on ; 
Much that I love will pass away, 
When pass the beauties of this day — 
In darkness soon my steps will stray, 
For Night comes on. 

m. 

Sweet Jesus, take me by the hand, 

When Night comes on ; 

Oh, lead me to my Promised Land, 

When Night comes on 

Let Thy Fair Face illume my eyes, 

Let Thy Bright Throne before me rise, 

Ah, let me enter Paradise 

When Nigjht comes on. 



62 



IRISH HAGIOLOGY. 



** Through storm, and fire, and gloom, I see it stand, 

Firm, broad and tall, 
The Celtic Cross that marks our Fatherland, " 

— T. B. M'Gee. 

"The chief glory of Ireland is Cliristian," says Father 
Yictor De Buck, the distinguished Belgian writer. No 
higher encomium than this can be given to any land. 
The glory of ancient Greece arose chiefly from her per- 
fection in literature, in sculpture, and in architecture ; 
the pride of old Rome lay in her code of laws, in the 
might of her armies, the majesty of her emperors, and 
the wideness of her dominion ; but Ireland's glory 
springs from a purer, loftier, diviner source — her Chris- 
tianity. Ireland's glory lies in the holiness of her sons 
and the chastity of her daughters. It lies in her like- 
ness to the Divine Model ; in the firmness of her hope ; 
in the warmth of her charity ; in the brightness of her 
Paith. It lies in the innocence of her people ; in their 
love of prayer and mortification, and in their fidelity to 
their God. The glory of Ireland falls upon her bent 
and reverent head from the Cross of Calvary. It falls 
upon her from the golden lamps of her sanctuaries, and 
from the white tapers burning on her altars. It shines 



63 



above and around her convents and monasteries, her 
chapels and her cells, her cradles and her tombs. 

O ! Erin chaste, O ! Holy Isle 

The Cross is still tiiy glorious sign ; 
O ! bear it bravely for awMle, 

It crowns thee with a light divine. 

What thongh thy tears must nightly fall 

On rocky beds and thorny ways, 
What though thy chiefs must pine in thrall, 

And sorrow sadden all thy lays. 

Thou art the chosen Isle of God, 

The home of holy Faith and love. 
With sainted dust in every sod. 

And saints in every star above. 

It was the full conviction that Ireland's glory sprang 
from her Christianity that inspired the hagiologists of 
the penal times — Ward, Fleming, Colgan, O'Clery, Wad- 
ding and White — to search in foreign libraries and 
ruined monasteries for the records of her saints. It was 
this conviction that encouraged them to travel along 
the Rhine, the Tagus, the Dyle, the Rhone, and the Tiber 
in search of the footprints of Irish apostles. It was this 
conviction that made them examine crumbling walls and 
fallen pillars, mouldering chapels and oratories, and bro- 
ken tomb-stones, for the names of Iiish Bishops, priests, 
and virgins. They beheld Ireland's banner lying in the 
dust, her harp-strings mute, and the sceptre and crown 
of her ancient kings in the hands of strangers, and they 



64 



resolved — oh, glorious resolve! — to rescue for her the 
glory of her saints and martyrs, the glory of her Christ- 
ianity. England having robbed her of her power and 
rights as a nation, Scotland tried to deprive her of the 
fame and honor of her holiest and most glorious sons 
and daughters, those faithful servants of the Lord who 
are venerated on the altars of the Church. This fired 
the energy of Ireland's student-sons, and made them 
hasten from library to library in search of documents to 
refute and destroy Scotland's claims. They had learned 
in childhood that Ireland was the "Island of saints ;" 
they had been inspired by the thought to lead pure 
and holy lives ; they had gloried in the knowledge that 
their native land was the mother of saintly men and 
women, and now were they to be cruelly undeceived? 
"Was Ireland's claim to Rumold, and Dympna, and 
Fridolin based on no solid foundation ? 

Was it a mere dream of their fathers ? Dusty volumes 
and obscure manuscripts were heaped up at St. An- 
thony's Convent of Louvain, and Hugh Ward, a Fran- 
ciscan priest, the son of the Lord of Letter and Bally- 
Ward, undertook to publish the "Acts of the Saints of 
Ireland," in which he conclusively proved that Ireland^ 
and not Scotland, was anciently known as Scotia, and 
consequently, that those called in old books Scots, were 
Irishmen and not Scotchmen. Michael O'Clery made 
reverential pilgrimages to all the old ruins in Ireland; 
he visited the deserted monasteries of Ireland's monks; 
lie lingered around silent churches and holy wells; he 
dug into the dark mines of Gaelic lore; he gathered up 



65 



old songs and old traditions that still flourished among 
the people, and after having sent much of the fruit of 
his excursions and labors to his brethren in Louvain, 
he, together with Ferfessius O'Conry, Pelerin O'Clery 
and Pelerin O'Dubgenman, composed the "Annals of 
Donegal." Patrick Fleming, a scion of the noble family 
of Slane, visited France, Italy and Germany, and rifled 
their libraries of all the knowledge relating to Ireland. 
His zeal was unflagging. Now we find him in the cell 
in which St. Malachy died at Clairvaux; now we find 
him in the monastery of Ratisbonne; and again, we find 
him at Harfleur, or at St. Peter's Convent at Re gens- 
burg. Besides the valuable information, books, and 
manuscripts, which he sent to Father Ward, he wrote 
the lives, from original sources, of several Irish saints. 
From his fertile pen we have the " Life of St. Comgall," 
founder of the great monastery of Bangor; the "Life 
of St. Columbanus;" the "Life of St. Molua," patron of 
Killaloe, and founder of .Clonf ert-Molua, in the Queen's 
County. " The Works of St. Columban," by Fleming, 
had the honor to be reprinted in the "Bibliotheca 
maxima Patrum," and in the " Patrologie de Migne." 
His "Life of St. Mochvenog" was inserted in the great 
work of the Bollandists. The indefatigable John Colgan 
arose with the might of a giant to defend Ireland's 
claim to her saints. To his care in transcribing from 
original documents, and his zeal in visiting libraries, 
several distinguished Jesuit professors of Louvain bear 
honorable testimony. In his time Belgium was rich in 
grand libraries. At Tournay and Brussels were found 



6B 



many rare and precious volumes. But it was in the 
library of Louvain, tlien one of the most beautiful 
libraries in Europe, he passed most of those leisure 
hours which he could spare from his professorial chair 
at St. Anthony's Convent. To him we are indebted for 
the lives of St. Patrick, St. Columba, and St. Brigid. 

All the Irish talent on the Continent was engaged in 
building up and glorifying the lives of the ancient 
monks of Erin. Some of the most distinguished schol- 
ars in Europe spent their leisure hours, or spare 
moments, in casting new light upon the Christian 
heroes of Irish history, in snatching from oblivion the 
fading records of the sainted children of the Apostle 
Patrick. Father Stephen White wrote of Ireland's 
saints in glowing language on the banks of the Moselle. 
Thomas Messingham put forth in Paris his " Garland of 
Irish Saints." Henry Eitzsimmon, with a power and 
clearness which were all his own, vindicated Ireland's 
right to the apostles of nearly every country in Europe. 
David Kothe, Bishop of Kilkenny, in the shadow of the 
church of St. Canice, collected the proud details of 
many a holy life which were fast sinking into oblivion. 
'The memory of Ireland's saints aroused all the enthusi- 
asm, awoke and stimulated all the talent and energy of 
every Celtic scholar in the halls of Europe and in the 
glens of Erie. 

Oh, beautiful and holy, as fair as the dawn, was the 
Ireland of the Celtic hagiologists of the seventeenth 
century. Their studies led them into the cells, and 
caves, and woods, in which the mortified and zealous 



67 



Irish monks spent their peaceful and sublime lives. 
They brought before them the virgin daughters of Erin, 
wrapt in divine contemplation, or singing sweet can- 
ticles of love and praise before the chaste altar of the 
Immaculate Lamb. 

Our noble hagiologists watched with streaming eyes 
the holy missionaries marching out from Ireland in 
glorious succession to bring light, and peace, and joy, 
and life to the peoples who sat in the darkness of error 
and in the shadow of death. They saw St. Arden 
preaching to the Northumbrians in England; they saw 
St. Colman among the Northern Saxons; they beheld 
St. Arbogart seated and ruling in the Episcopal Chair 
of Strasbourg. Sts. Maildulphus, Cuthbert, Killian, 
Yirgilius, Einden and Columba rose up before their en- 
tranced vision, and they blessed and glorified the land 
that bore such flowers. They deeply felt the truth of 
the words of St. Adelnus to Elf ride, "that Ireland is no 
less stored with learned men than are the heavens with 
glittering stars." With Egiwold, they agreed "that 
Ireland, though fruitful in soil, is much more celebrated 
for saints." With Henry of Huntingdon they knew 
"that the Almighty enriched Ireland with several bles- 
sings, and appointed a multitude of saints for its de- 
fence." They delighted in old, holy Ireland. Ireland 
of the Cell, and the Church, and the Monastery, and the 
Convent, and the Well, and the Celtic Cross, claimed 
the deep devotion of their hearts. No wonder that the 
names of our hagiologists are loved and cherished by 
every true child of Ireland. Would that we could in- 



68 



herit some of their love for our forefathers in the Faith I 
I can think of few blessings greater than the grace of 
devotion to the dear servants of God. To love the saints 
who prayed, and watched, and fasted, and bled, and 
died to transmit the Faith pure and bright to us ought 
to be our great aim. Sons of Ireland, do you always 
remember that the chief and lasting glory of your coun- 
try is Christian? Do you always remember that the 
brightest halos that shine upon your country are those 
that surround the heads of your saints? Alas! I fear 
not. To many the angelic vision of Ireland's beauty 
during the days when St. Columb preached in Scotland; 
when Columban taught in France; when St. Clement 
spoke in Germany; when St. Buan bore the light into 
Iceland; when St. Killian prayed in Franconia, and St. 
Suiwan in the Orcades, when St. Gallus stood amid the 
snows of Switzerland, and St. Brendan shone upon the 
Fortunate Isles, is covered with mists and clouds. 



69 
THE PATKIOT'S ADDKESS. 

(Supposed to be ■written when first the "Red Hand of Ulster" was unfurled.) 



Do you \7ait for the swords of seraphs to flash in 

your holy cause ? 
Do you -wait for a heaven-sent Moses to free you 

from alien laws ? 
Do you look to the skies for manna to feast you 

in famine years ? 
Do you hope for the hands of angels to dry up 

your fount of tears ? 

Do you think that the graves will open and yield 

up hosts 'gainst your foes ? 
Do you dream that Ked Seas will cover the tyrants 

that cause your woes ? 
Look not for these favors, my people ; look not 

for miracles grand ; 
Arise like the waves of the Ocean, and strike for 

your own dear Land. 

Trust now to your valor and virtue ; trust now to 

your flashing steel, 
Charge down on the black-hearted foeman, — in 

this is your only weal. 
Pray, yes pray to the God of Battles to nerve yon 

for deadly strife ; 
If you fall on a field blood-reddened, — to God 

offer up your life. 



70 



In vain you have begged from the tyrant to live 

in your own Green Isle. 
You may beg till the Day of Judgment, — the 

Saxon has naught but guile, 
Think, oh think of the sword of Judith, think 

of the brave Machabee, 
Think of your wrongs, your homes, your altars, 
' and strike that you may be free. 

Join hands with each foe of England, join hands 

with brave France or Spain, 
Dye red the green folds of your Banner in blood 

of your Saxon slaili, 
If you bleed in the fight for Ireland, not rebels 

but martyrs you, 
If you fall for your homesteads warring your death 

■will be brave and true. 

Bemember the blood of your martyrs ! Kemember 

the tears of your maids ! 
Kemember the Strongbows and Cromwells! 

Bemember the fires in your glades ! 
Bemember the exiles who perished — the priests 

and the bards, and chiefs, — 
It is yours to avenge their exile — it is yours to 

avenge their griefs! 



71 



IBISH COLLEGES FOUNDED ABEOAD. 



And call to remembrance the works of the fathers, which they 
have done in their generations ; and you shall receive great 
glory, and an everlasting name. 1 Mac. Chap, n., v. li. 

Nearly all the famous Irish schools that had escaped 
the ravages of the Danes were destroyed by the Protes- 
tant "Reformers." The blackest laws ever framed by 
any government were enacted against Catholic educa- 
tion in Ireland by the ministers of Henry. Elizabeth, 
and James. It is needless to mention here the numer- 
ous statutes against "lectors ^r schoolmasters," not 
Protestant. Almost every one has read them. It is 
sufficient to say, that it was the penal enactments 
against Catholic schools and teachers that forced our 
students to retire to the old Continent, there to found 
new asylums for learning. Schools that should flourish 
in Irish valleys, and by Irish rivers, had to rise and 
flourish in the different parts of Catholic Europe. And 
they did soon rise and flourish in France, Spain, Portu- 
gal, and Italy. Ireland's love for learning cannot be 
extinguished. Irishmen at all times love and seek the 
Light. Schools were founded at Lisle, Antwerp, Tour- 
nay, Douay and St. Omer. Seminaries were established 
in Bourdeaux, Toulouse, and Nantes. Irish scholars 



72 



opened new seats of learning at Louvain, Lisbon, Ma- 
drid, Rome, Paris, Seville, Valencia, Valladolid, Alcala, 
and Salamanca. The Irish secular priests had their 
seminaries abroad, as well as the different religious Or- 
ders. In all these colleges were found men of wide ex- 
perience, of deep and solid learning ; men renowned 
for the sanctity of their lives and the purity of their 
doctrine. Fervent youths who were anxious to take the 
places of martyred pastors flocked to the schools abroad 
in defiance of all the laws and threats of the dominant 
party. The foreign schools soon defeated the object of 
the Penal Laws against Catholic education. Though 
the ranks of the brave priesthood at home were cruelly 
thinned by persecution, death, and unheard of suffer- 
ing, still new recruits were anxiously waiting in the 
halls of distant lands to rush into the thick of the com- 
bat. Through these recruits the Church of St. Patrick 
was saved, through them, under Grod, the Faith of Ire- 
land was victorious. All through the Penal Days many 
an Irish student turned his back on sunny Italy, on gay 
France, on generous Spain— many an Irish student left 
pleasant homes in foreign schools and courts to keep 
alive among his people the glorious fire of religion and 
patriotism. At one time nearly every priest, bishop, 
and archbishop of Ireland could be numbered among 
" the Irish Scholars of the Continent." On returning to 
their native shores, many of those who had spent years 
abroad in pursuit of knowledge devoted themselves in a 
special manner to the instruction of their less fortunate 
people at home. It was a strange and edifying sight to 



73 



see during the Penal Days some of the most distin- 
guished of Europe's professors seated in the ruins of 
some old abbey or under the white branches of the 
blooming hawthorne bush or hedge teaching the ele- 
ments of religion and science to the children of the per- 
secuted Irish peasantry, or to the scions of robbed, im- 
poverished, noble houses. We find in the glorious 
catalogue of " hedge schoolmasters " the names of even 
archbishops. History tells us that Nicholas Skerret, 
Archbishop of Tuam, as well as other distinguished ec- 
clesiastical dignitaries, taught school at Gal way in the 
worst of times. Father Charles Lea, a distinguished 
Jesuit, who shone as a student in the halls of Rome, Ox- 
ford, Paris, and Cologne, was happy to be able to teach 
a school in Youghall about the end of the Sixteenth 
Century. In many an Irish hut in the wildest and most 
solitary parts of the country, all through the Penal 
Days, could be found schoolmasters who had won many 
a medal in the most famous schools and universities of 
Europe. 



His altar was an uncarved rock, 

The Priest of Penal Days ; 
His choir the waves upon the lough, 

The Priest of Penal Days ; 
His incense rose from flowerets wild — 
His temple — Nature undefiled — 
His acolyte=— a peasant child — 

The Priest of Penal Days. 



74 



His garden was the lonely moor, 

The Priest of Penal Days ; 

His bread came from the poorest poor, 
The Priest of Penal Days ; 

He scorned the earth and all it gave, 

His mansion was a gloomy cave, 

His goal — a glorious martyr's grave. 

Grand Priest of Penal Dljb. 

It would go beyond the scope of this book were we 
to give a full account of the several Irish Colleges 
founded abroad during the Penal Days. We shall, 
therefore, treat only of a few of them, of whose history 
we have made a special study. Before treating at 
large of any particular establishment, we venture to 
give our readers a few interesting details concerning 
some of the colleges of which we will not treat in de~ 
tail. " In various parts of the continent," writes Father 
Walsh, " colleges for the reception of Irish students 
were in a short time established. Under the protec- 
tion of Philip n., King of Spain, and other benefactors, 
who munificently endowed them, they soon multiplied, 
and while the Irish Church could thus calculate on a 
regular succession in the ministry, the malice of Eng- 
land was confounded and her name became a by-word 
of contempt and scorn throughout Europe. In 1595, 
the Irish Seminary at Lisbon was founded by Cardinal 
Ximenes, who had ever taken a lively interest in its 
welfare, and who was, according to his own directions, 
honorably interred in its church. Another establish- 
ment was founded about the same time at Evora, by 



75 



Cardinal Henriques. In 1596, the Irisli College at 
Douay, was founded. Christopher Cusack, a learned 
priest of the Diocese of Meath, had through his in- 
fluence contributed much in advancing this literary 
retreat. He also through his exertions founded the 
Colleges at Lisle, Antwerp, Tournay, and St. Omer. 
Seminaries were established in Bordeaux, Toulouse and 
Nantes, for Irish students, under the patronage of Anne, 
Queen of Austria. The Irish College, on the Hill of 
St. Genevieve, in Paris, was a gift from the French 
Government, and to which the Baron de St. Just had 
been a great benefactor. In 1582, the College of 
Salamanca was founded for Irish students by the 
states of Castile and Leon, Philip III. being its prin- 
cipal patron; and about the same time two extensive 
Seminaries were erected, one of them a royal establish- 
ment, at Seville, for the education of Irish missionaries, 
to which Sarapater, a learned canon of that city, was a 
principal benefactor. In the last year of this century, 
the Baron George Silveria, founded the Irish College 
at Alcala de Henares; he afterwards richly endowed it, 
and it became, in the seventeenth century, a source of 
incalculable benefit to the Irish Church." Thomas 
White, a native of Clonmel, belonged to the Society 
of Jesus, and "was a great pillar of the Irish Church 
and of extraordinary piety and zeal." He died at San- 
tiago, in 1622. He founded the Irish Jesuit College of 
Salamanca, and became its Kector. "We do not know 
whether the Jesuit, Cornelius Carrig, founded a house 
of studies in Portugal, where he long resided, or not. 



76 



He is at all events praised by Henry Fitzsimon, as a 
benefactor of Irish education. Jobn Houling, a native 
of Wexford, was an able writer, a good linguist, a man 
of zeal, and is said to bave died a martyr of charity. 
He is highly praised in the controversial writings of 
Copinger and Fitzsimon. To Houling we are indebted 
for the founding of an Irish Jesuit College at Lisbon. 
The celebrated Jesuit, Father Parsons, also founded a 
College for Irish students, in Spain. All honor to his 
name. Father James Archer, the patriotic Jesuit, if 
he did not found a College, was a great promoter of 
the education of Irish students abroad. Archer was 
" a most celebrated man, whose name was very dear to 
Irishmen, with whom he possessed an unbounded in- 
fluence. He was a famous missioner in Ireland during 
the war of Tyrone." In 1628, Luke Wadding prevailed 
on Cardinal Ludovisius to found a College at Rome, for 
the benefit of those youths who mshed to study for 
the ranks of the Irish secular priesthood. "The 
Cardinal hired a house," says Harris, "for the use of 
this foundation, opposite the College of St. Isidore, and 
placed the youths under the care and inspection of the 
Friars of that house. He allotted six hundred crowns 
a year for their support, and laid out one hundred and 
fifty crowns in providing it with furniture. Wadding 
had the charge committed to him of drawing up a 
book of statutes for their government, to be approved 
of by the Cardinal, which was done. The College was 
opened on the 1st of January, 1628, and the students 
were immediately introduced." Owen Callanan was 



77 



chosen first Rector, but died after six months in office. 
He was succeeded by Martin Walsh, a native of Water- 
ford. Walsh was a young man at Madrid, when 
Charles, Prince of Wales, afterwards King Charles I., 
arrived at the Court of the Infanta of Spain. He 
made himself known by a poetical work which he pub- 
lished at the time. He afterwards went to Naples and 
read philosophy in the Convent of Mount Calvary in 
that city. He was thence called to Rome, and became 
Divinity Lecturer in the College of St. Isidore. He was 
also Guardian of this College for some time. John 
Ponce was the third Rector of the Ludovisian College. 
This Franciscan was a native of Cork, and spent part 
of his life at Paris and Louvain. He was an able and 
voluminous writer. He composed several works on 
philosophical and theological subjects. 

The students of the Ludovisian College attended all 
the exercises and lectures at St. Isidore's. A watchful 
eye was kept over their conduct. They were never 
allowed to go out except in the company of some of the 
Franciscans. Even in death the Cardinal did not for- 
get the College of his heart. He left for its benefit a 
farm situated about twelve miles from Rome, and a 
yearly rent of a thousand crowns. He obliged his heir 
to pay this forever, and to purchase the house in which 
the Collegians resided for their use. 

"Wadding," says Harris, "founded another College 
or Convent, as an Irish Franciscan Novitiate, at Cap- 
ranica, in the Patrimony of St. Peter, about twenty- 
eight miles from Rome. For this he obtained the 



78 



Pope's License by Bull, dated the Sth of May, 1656, 
and six days after lie solemnly took possession of it for 
that use. The intention of this foundation was, that it 
should serve as a seminary for the instruction of Irish 
novices as a supply for the College of St. Isidore. The 
Pope made some grants in favor of this house. "Wadding 
provided vestments for the altar, books for the students 
and other furniture necessary for the first inhabitants, 
which he took care to increase as long as he lived." 
The first guardian of this novice-home was Maurice 
Matthews, a " Lecturer of Divinity." 



79 
ERIN, DEAR! 



I. 

IBright gold sleeps in thy mountains, 

Erin, Dear i 
In silver leap thy fountains, 

Erin, Dear ! 
Thy skies with light are glowing, 
Thy winds in music blowing, 
Thy buds in beauty growing, 

Erin, Dear ! 

n. 

Thy streams are sweetly singing, 
Erin, Dear! 
Thy chapel bells are ringing, 

Erin, Dear ! 
Thy vales of song and story, — 
Thy castles strong, though hoary, 
To me still beam with glory, 

Erin, Dear! 

III. 

Pure as Avoca's waters, 

Erin, Dear ! 
Are they brave sons and daughters, 

Erin, Dearl 
Thy great heart throbs the Ocean, 
With its subhme emotion — 
-Chaste Temple of Devotion, 

Erin, Dear ! 



80 



ST. ISIDORE'S COLLEGE, ROME. 



A GREAT IRISH FRANCISCAN CONVENT. 

The Roman Pontiffs have always fondly cherished the 
Irish nation. But it was during the Penal Days that 
they showed their deepest love for her. It was then, 
when she most needed friends, that they gathered to 
the Eternal City the exiled Irish chiefs and scholars; it 
was then that they sent Nuncios, missionaries, material 
help, and Papal Benedictions and Indulgences to her 
struggling sons. The Spanish banner, blessed by Papal 
hands, still lies hidden on the hills of Kerry, at Smer- 
wick, by the ancient Fort of Gold. How many "an. 
Irish exiled lord " found a home in the capital of the 
Christian world, and lived in peace and plenty through 
the munificent bounty of the Popes ! Can Ireland ever 
forget the brilliant reception accorded the fugitive 
Earls of Tyrone and Tyrconnell, on their arrival under 
the shadow of St. Peter's? Can she ever forget the 
honors and gifts bestowed by the Vicars of Christ on 
her Conrys, her Waddings, and her Lombards ? 

Rome and Ireland are bound in love by the holiest 
and strongest ties that can exist on earth, and nothing 
in the future can sever the golden links of their affec- 
tion. The high interests of Rome, "the City of the 



81 



Soul," and of Ireland, "the Island of Saints," are one 
and inseparable. Even in our own day the devotion of 
Ireland's youths to the Holy See could be read in the 
light of the swords of the Irish Papal Brigade. The 
appointment of Dr. Walsh to the See of Dublin, and of 
Dr. Kirby to the archbishopric of Ephesus, is but one 
of many proofs of the devoted love of the present glori- 
ous Pontiff, Leo Xin., for the Ii'ish race and nation. 

St. Isidore's Franciscan College, Rome, will ever re- 
main dear to the hearts of all patriotic Irishmen. From 
the beginning it was a source of countless blessings to 
Ireland. Its guardians, professors and students were 
religious who united great piety with deep learning, 
who devoted their talent to the service of the universal 
Church, and yet never waned in their love of the hap- 
less land of their fathers. 

"Here," says Thomas Darcy McG-ee, "had gathered 
Irish professors whose names are distinguished in the 
Church literature of their age. Here, in after times, 
were bred many of that race of clergymen who lived in 
martyrdom under penal legislation, refusing to fly the 
land for royal proclamations, refusing to recant at the 
gallows." 

St. Isidore's was founded by Luke Wadding, on June 
13th, 1625. "It was intended," says Sir James Ware, " for 
the education of Irish students of the Franciscan Order 
in the study of the Hberal arts, divinity, and contro- 
versy." It was also destined as a seminary, out of which 
the missions in England, Scotland and Ireland might be 
supplied. Wadding bought for this purpose a plot of 



82 



ground on whicli an hospital or place of reception for 
the Franciscans of the Spanish nation had been erected. 
He paid off large sums with which that house was in- 
cumbered, framed orders proper for the government of 
a college, and procured the Bull of Pope Urban to give 
them strength. He entered into possession of the prem- 
ises on June 24th, the same year. He was the first 
guardian of it himself, and appointed Anthony Hickey 
the first principal lecturer of Divinity, and Patrick Flem- 
ing lecturer of Philosophy. Wadding called indiffer- 
ently into it the native friars of all the four provinces 
of Ireland, who were dispersed in Spain, Flanders and 
Germany. So in a short time the college increased to 
the number of thirty, who acquired such an opinion for 
religion and learning that they began to be very accept- 
able to the Romans, and their fame spread in other 
countries. The founder purchased of all the reserved 
rent and incumbrances to which the ground was subject 
-under the first agreement, and bought in other con- 
tiguous plots of ground to enlarge the site. He im- 
proved the former buildings, erected many new ones, 
surrounded the whole with a firm w^all, elegantly 
ladorned both the inside and outside of the church and 
buildings, and enlarged the former by annexing to it 
six chapels. He furnished the college with a noble and 
well-chosen library, not for ostentation, but use; the 
library consisted of about 5,000 printed books, for the 
most part folios, and about 800 manuscripts, all of which 
he settled and disposed into classes in an alphabetical 
method. 



83 



The money to supply these expenses was obtained, for 
the most part, from the munificence and charity of the 
Romans out of the affection and love which they bore 
"Wadding, who lived to see this, his newly-erected col- 
lege, grow in great splendor. The office of Guardian 
was elective, and he enjoyed it five times. He took ex- 
act care to keep the college out of debt, and the last 
time he was Guardian he made a present to the body of 
a great number of his " Annals," and others of his writ- 
ings, that, even after his death, the Superiors found 
from thence considerable aid to answer their expenses. 
So great was his virtue and industry, that though he 
was a poor friar, and a stranger from the remotest 
island of Europe, yet from the time he arrived at Rome, 
in the thirtieth year of his age, he acquired such friends 
and patrons in a short time that, from their voluntary 
beneficence, more than from his importunity, from June 
13th, 1625, when he took possession of the Hospital of 
St. Isidore, to August 2d, 1630, he found means to ex- 
pend 22,000 Roman crowns on the area, buildings, 
books and furniture of the sacristy only, when the por- 
tico of the church, the choir, the wall inclosing their 
whole possessions, were not built, nor the larger garden 
levelled, nor the lesser garden purchased, nor one stone 
laid in the second cloisters, nor the sacristy enlarged or 
adorned. For these and other things he provided the 
expenses afterwards. 

Father Luke Wadding, the founder and first Guar- 
dian of St. Isidore's, rises up in Penal Times like a pil- 
lar of light. Among the great sons of Ireland he is one 



84 



of the greatest. Among the great men of all Christen- 
dom he holds a high rank. His fame was a new glory 
to his Order, and was long the common i)ropertj of all 
the learned men of Europe. The favorite of several 
nations, distinct in laws and language, he was highly 
honored on various occasions by dukes, kings. Archbi- 
shops, Cardinals and Popes. A man of consummate 
prudence in difficult embassies, a great preacher in sev- 
eral of the European tongues, a distinguished professor, 
he was a writer who may well be compared to the most 
indefatigable and learned among the Bollandists. 
" From the time of the Spanish Embassy," says Ware, 
" he grew into such authority, and the world had con- 
ceived such an opinion of his wisdom, dexterity, indus- 
try, and his good fortune in transacting business, that 
every person was fond of courting his advice and aid in 
the most difficult matters." 

'A true religious, he bore in his heart a deep venera- 
tion for the Mother of God, and most learnedly de- 
fended her Immaculate Conception ; a devoted Son of 
St. Francis, he threw a flood of glory upon the saints 
and distinguished members of the Franciscan Order ; a 
faithful soldier of the Church, he published the "Lives 
of the Popes " and many glorious things relating to the 
Holy See of Rome. As was natural to him as a Francis- 
can and an Irishman, he took a deep interest in the 
works of Scotus. He collected the fragmentary writ- 
ings of this great man, examined them carefully, re- 
jected spurious papers attributed to the Subtile Doctor, 
and added many marginal notes of great importance. 



85 



He ably defended Scotus against the charges made 
against him, and had his works properly brought out 
with a dedication to Philip IV., King of Spain. 

Like all truly great minds. Wadding bore a deep and 
lasting love for his native land. To her sacred cause 
he generously devoted his learning and his influence. 
He wrote with a burning pen when he treated of her 
great sons, or when he defended her rights and de- 
picted her bleeding form. It is deeply to be regretted 
that he did not live to compose his intended " General 
History of Ireland." No man of his time was better 
qualified than he for this grand task. The active part 
he took in the great rebellion of 1641 endeared him to 
all patriotic Irishmen, and sheds immortal glory on his 
name. "By his industry," writes Ware, ''he solicited 
and procured supplies of money, arms and expert Irish 
officers from France and Flanders to be sent to Ireland, 
before the rebels had any thoughts of either demanding 
or receiving them; and he sent over a person to bring 
him an exact and certain account of affairs there. These 
were the first foreign aids received by the Irish from abroad, 
which he obtained by soliciting the wealthy and such as 
were well disposed to sustain what they thought the 
cause of religion. The Supreme Council, then estab- 
lished at Kilkenny, returned him thanks for his seasona- 
ble zeal to the Catholic religion and his country.' In 1642 
they gave him a commission to act as their agent to the 
Pope, Cardinals, and other princes of Italy, sealed with 
the new seal of the newly-erected Commonwealth. They 
sent him also dispatches to be delivered to those who. 



86 



at his instance, had contributed to their first aid, 
namely, to Pope Urban "Vili., to the Cardinals Onuph- 
rius, Francis and Anthony Barberini. In the dispatches 
they laid open their condition, implored their patronage 
and the Pope's benediction and aid. They also extolled 
the wisdom, religion and zeal of Wadding. 

"Animated with this commission, he employed his 
whole power with the Pope and Cardinals, and was in- 
stant with them in season and out of season to succor 
his distressed country. Among other graces, he ob- 
tained the favor of the Pope to send Peter Francis 
Scarampi, priest of the Oratory of St. Philip Neri, at 
Rome, to Ireland, with the Pope's Benediction, and large 
supplies of money and ammunition to animate and com- 
fort the rebels, and to give seasonable notice to the 
Pope's ministers in other countries in what manner they 
might best aid the Catholic cause. By his own industry 
he promoted a charitable collection among some of the 
Cardinals and prelates for the aid of his brethren, by 
which, upon several occasions, he seasonably relieved 
them. He obtained a particular congregation of Cardi- 
nals to be appointed to deliberate from time to time on 
ways and means to aid and direct the Irish rebellion. 
"Wadding himself was always admitted to assist at the 
meetings of the Cardinals. Some time after he obtained 
from the new Pope, Innocent X., that an Apostolic Nun- 
cio should be sent to Ireland, and John Baptist Renuc- 
cini. Archbishop and Prince of Firmo, was appointed for 
that office. Besides the aid which he carried from the 
Pope, Wadding delivered into his hands 26,000 crowns 



87 



out of the collection whicli he made for the pious cause, 
and a year after sent another considerable sum by Den- 
nis Massario, auditor to the Nuncio, for the like purpose. 
The Supreme Council sent a deputy to Pope Urban 
Vm., and to Francis and Anthony Baberini, his neph- 
ews, with letters subscribed by three Archbishops, five 
secular peers, the secretary of the Council, three of the 
Commons, and one Bishop, humbly entreating- His Holi- 
ness, that he would condescend to call to the College of 
Cardinals Father Luke Wadding, a native of Ireland, 
illustrious by birth and merit, whose other praises and 
virtues are not unknown to the Apostolic See.' " Wad- 
ding, being a man of humility, and for other reasons, 
did all he could to escape the intended dignity. In 
this he was successful. 

Wadding was so successful in defending the Immac- 
ulate Conception at the Holy City, " that his labors 
acquired him the acknowledgments of the Spanish 
King's* ambassadors at Rome, of Cardinal Sandoval, 
Archbishop of Toledo, in his own name, as well as in 
the names of the Council of Madrid and of the Chapter 
of the Metropolitan Church at Seville. And, above all. 
King Philip IV. himself gave him thanks in a letter 
written with his own hand; which he also commanded 
the Duke of Terra-Nova to do in His Majesty's name." 

"Wadding," says Thomas Darcy McGee, "had left 
Ireland at fifteen, was bred in the Peninsula, his for- 
tune was cast in Borne, yet his heart and hopes turned 



* King Philip Hi. 



88 



more frequently to Ireland than to any other land. "We 
can well believe him when he declares that he valued 
any subsidy gained for her over any honor that could 
be conferred upon himself." 

Paul King, for some time guardian of St. Isidore's, is 
said by Harris " to be a very zealous man for the Nun- 
cio's party and that of O'Neill, and a bitter enemy to 
his sovereign and the loyalist." A work of his was 
published at Brussels, " and dispersed over all the 
Popish countries of Europe, with design to instigate 
these powers against the English and Protestant inter- 
est in Ireland." He was also a philosophical writer. 
James Miles, a native of Drogheda, also made a name 
for himself in the same college and at Naples. He 
wrote a Catechism in English, for the instruction of 
those of the English nation who should be converted 
in Italy. He was also the author of a few books on 
music. These, we are told, were held in high esteem 
"among the adepts in music." Bonaventure Baron, 
whose true name was Fitzgerald, a native of Clonmel, 
was also professor in the college founded by Wadding. 
He was considered " the first Latinist of Rome, by the 
unanimous concurrence of the best judges " He ably 
defended the system of Scotus, and was a prolific 
writer. He composed works on Philosophy, Theology, 
History, Controversy, and even put forth a volume of 
poems. The name of Francis Porter, from Meath, re- 
flects no small share of glory on St. Isidore's. He was 
professor of Divinity and Jubilate Lecturer in that col- 
lege. He was also for some time president of it, and 



89 



was undoubtedly an able controversial writer. In one 
of his books he resolves all difficulties between Catho- 
lics and Protestants to the one question of " the Perpetual 
Infallibility of the Visible Church of Christ." He loyally 
devoted his pen to the service of the ancient Church of 
Ireland, and proudly spoke of the love and reverence 
which his countrymen always bore the Holy See of 
Home. His invectives against Martin Luther, as the 
author of countless evils to Christianity, were by no 
means mild or agreeable to the arch-heretic's friends. 

Francis Birmingham, from Galway, taught Philoso- 
phy with distinction at Milan. Thence he went to 
Home, and was Jubilate Lecturer of Divinity at St. 
Isidore's, and Definitor-General of his Order. Francis 
Harold, like Bonaventure Baron, was the nephew of 
Wadding. He first distinguished himself as a Divinity 
lecturer at the Irish College of Prague, in Bohemia. 
The latter part of his life he spent at Rome, devoting 
his time and talent to the completion of his great 
uncle's works and other writings of his own. Anthony 
Hickey, from the County Clare, was another of St. Isi- 
dore's distinguished scholars. He was a renowned 
Greek student, and "very learned in Scholastic Div- 
inity," which he taught at Cologne and Louvain. He 
was for a time Superior of St. Anthony's Convent, and was 
elected Definitor of the Franciscan Order, in 1630. 
" His dear friend, Luke "Wadding, carried him to Rome 
in 1619, being thereto solicited by Benignus a-Genua, 
General of the Franciscans, in order to be an assistant 
to Wadding, in collecting and disposing materials for 



90 



his ' Annals and "Writers ' of that Order. He died on 
June 26th, 1641, much lamented by all his acquaintances, 
especially by Wadding, who gives him the highest 
character for his many excellent virtues and qualities." 



91 



HEK EOSARY OF WELLS. 



Ireland is enriched and beautified by a vast number of wells. 
The following verses poetically account for their origin. 



The Angel spread her gleaming wings 

Upon the golden light ; 
A sweet "adieu" to heaven she sang, 

Then sailed from visions bright. 

Like winged star she crossed the sky, 
She fanned the fields of blue ; 

She passed the moon with heedless eye- 
Down, down to earth she flew. 

She saw the nations of the earth 

In error's baneful shade ; 
She saw the fairest isle below 

In sinful pomp arrayed. 

** Is this the destined home of saints? 

The chosen isle of God ? ' ' 
The Angel dropped a holy tear 

That purified the sod. 

She wept upon the mountain peak, 

She wept in secret dells ; 
She placed on pagan Erin then 

Her Eosary of wells. 



92 
GOOD -NIGHT. 



My bark of life now gains the shore, 

Gently she glides along ; 
Behind — she hears the breakers' roar, 

Before — sweet angels' song ; 
Thick darkness falls upon the sea, 

Upon the land soft light. 
To all who sailed the deep with me, 

To friend and foe — Good-Night. 

I bless the lips that shone with smiles. 

When stars forgot to glow ; 
I bless the hundred sunny isles 

That broke my sea of woe j 
The shore is struck, a golden land, 

The sea fades on my sight, 
M}'^ faithful bark is on the strand — 

To friend and foe — Good-Night. 



93 



THE lEISH DO:^nNICAN CONVENT, ON MONT- 
CESAE, LOUVAIN. 



In all Belgium there is scarcely a more romantic, a 
more interesting, or a more sacred spot than the sum- 
mit of Mont-Cesar, Louvain. Its " Castrum Csesaris," 
is as sohd, as gloomy, as mysterious, as the Tower of 
London. According to popular tradition, the Chateau 
Cesar was built by Julius Caesar, during his sojourn 
among " the bravest of the Gauls." Historians, how- 
ever, tell us that it was built by the Emperor Arnulf, 
about the year 885, to protect Louvain from the incur- 
sions of the Normans. Whether tradition or history be 
right, in this instance, we are unable to decide. Clouds 
and mists have long since gathered over the early his- 
tory of the Chateau Cesar. 

In the beginning of the sixteenth century a little boy 
was brought from Ghent, where he was bora, to the 
Chateau Cesar, whose name was destined to fill Europe. 
This was Charles, Archduke of Austria, the son of Philip 
and Joanna, of Castile, known in history as Charles 
the Fifth. On Mont-Cesar Charles had his dreams of 
future power and glory. There he spent his boyish 
days in innocent amusement and in planning grand 
plans which he was to execute when the crown should 
be placed upon his youthfnl head. With him dwelt 



94 



ills two beautiful sisters — Mary, afterwards Queen of 
Hungary, and Eleanor, the Consort of Francis the First, 
King of France. 

Little the youth dreamed, when he longed for royal 
power, when he told his pious sisters of his great ambi- 
tion, that a day would come when he would grow weary 
of his sceptre, and find nothing but thorns in his 
jeweled crown. Little did he dream that a time would 
come when he would kneel before the Convent of Yuste 
and say: 

"'Tis night, and storms continually roar; 
Ye monks of Spain, unbar for me tlie door. 

Here in unbroken quiet let me fare, 

Save when the loud bell startles me to prayer. 

Make readj' for me what your house has meet, 
A friar's habit and a winding-sheet." 

Yet, so it was, in fact. Charles the Great resigned 
bis purple robes for the humble habit of a monk. 

If the Chateau Cesar was a suitable home for an am- 
bitious and warlike prince, it was no less a home for a 
poet and historian like Puteanus, the worthy disciple of 
the illustrious Justin Lipsis. The silence, gloom and 
mystery of the Chateau at times helped the mind in 
serious thought, at times excited the imagination and 
courted that high inspiration without which no one can 
sing a deathless song. 

Puteanus well deserves the name of a great Christian 



95 



philosoplier. During more than forty years lie devoted 
liis time, his varied and brilliant talents, his energy and 
^eal, to the training in virtue and the advancement in 
science of the students who confided to his care. At an 
early age he filled a chair of eloquence in Milan; but 
his fame having spread to Spain, he was chosen by 
Philip III. as his historiographer. The Archduke Albert, 
wishing to have him in the Low Countries, invited him 
to Louvain, and had him appointed successor to Lipsis. 
He also gave him charge of the Chateau Cesar. Here 
Puteanus wrote several of his great works, and wore 
the collar of gold — not which he won from the proud 
invader — but which he received from the fair hands of 
the beautiful and virtuous Archduchess Isabella III. 
The style of Puteanus was not that of the ancients, but 
that of his master, Lipsis. 

Puteanus was endowed with great qualities of head 
and heart, and won fairly all the honors conferred upon 
him. He died at Louvain in 1646, in his seventy-second 
year. 

In 1607, the great Hugh O'Neill and his fellow-exiles, 
having passed through many dangers and hardships, 
and after having been feasted by the most illustrious 
personages in France and Belgium, arrived in Louvain. 
We can easily imagine the joy and enthusiasm of the 
Irish University students, and the patriotic Irish Fran- 
ciscans, at seeing the noble princes of Ulster and Tyr- 
connel in their midst. But we cannot easily depict their 
sorrow when they called to mind that these illustrious 
men were exiled from their crowns and country. Did 



96 



not tears fill the eyes of many a brave Irish student at 
Louvain when he thought of the pains of exile to be 
suffered by the sons of Hugh O'Neill and by Nuola, the 
accomplished and beautiful sister of Hugh O'Donnel? 
"We know too much about the generosity, sympathy and 
tenderness of the Irish heart to doubt it for an instant. 

Tyrconnel and his friends had suitable accommoda- 
tion provided for them in the city of Louvain, but by 
the express wish of the Archduke Albert, O'Neill took 
up his abode in the old Chateau Cesar. There he re- 
ceived letters of congratulation and sympathy from 
illustrious Irish prelates and scholars at Kome, Paris 
and Douay. Crowds of Irish students and professors 
hurried to the Chateau to shake hands with the great 
Hugh, and to look upon the glorious banner of Ulster — 
the stainless "Red Hand." 

O'Neill and O'Donel were obliged by circumstances to 
remain several months at Louvain. Though exiles, in 
truth, though rebels and firebrands in the eyes of Eng- 
land, who had robbed them and driven them to revolt, 
they were honored at Louvain by its generous and spirit- 
ed inhabitants in a manner worthy of noble princes and 
Christian heroes. "When Christmas came," says the 
gifted author of " The Fate and Fortunes of Tyrone and 
Tyrconnel," " the burgomeister and the chief citizens 
waited on O'Neill, and according to custom paid him 
and O'Donel all the usual compliments, making them 
presents, and sending minstrels to perform in their resi- 
dences." 

How the heart of O'Neill must have been gladdened 



97 



as he sat in the spacious hall of the old palace of 
Charles V. and listened to Irish martial airs played in 
his honor by the countrymen of " Godfrey the Great, 
the shining western star ! " 

There is a gate, or rather the last relic of one, on the 
ramparts, within sight of Chateau Cesar, which has a 
special interest of its own for the Irish historian. It 
was there that Preston and some of his countrymen 
proved true to the martial renown of Irish soldiers. 

About 1330, " those lions of the war," the Hospitallers 
of St. John of Jerusalem, exchanged their property, 
"Le Kesselstein,'' for a house on Mont-Cesar. The con- 
vent, which the Duke gave them, consisted of a house 
and a chapel, built in 1140. Here those noble cham- 
pions of the Cross devoted themselves to the sick and 
neglected poor. Was Schiller thinking of the Knights 
of Mont- Cesar when he so beautifully wrote : 

"Oh, nobly shone the fearful Cross upon your mail afar, 
When Khodes and Acre hailed your might, ! lions of the war, 
When leading many a pilgrim horde through wastes of Syrian 

gloom, 
Or standing with the Cherub's sword before the Holy Tomb. 
Yet on your forms the apron seemed a nobler armor far, 
When by the sick man's bed ye stood, O! lions of the war, 
When ye, the high-born bowed your pride to tend the lowly weak- 
ness — 
The duty, though it brought no fame, fulfiU'd by Christian meek- 
ness." 

The chapel served the congregation as an oratory. 
" La Commanderie " — this was the name the Hospitallers 



98 



gave their house — was placed under the invocation of 
St. Nicholas. The chapel was entirely reconstructed in 
1457. It was then dedicated to St. John the Baptist. 
This chapel was of considerable dimensions. Its princi- 
pal fa9ade was surmounted by a square tower of a re- 
markable height. Near the altar of the chapel was a 
wooden statue representing St. John weeping at the 
foot of the Cross. This statue was held in great venera- 
tion by the people of Louvain. They styled it St. John 
the Weeper — " St. Jan Gryzer." The women whose in- 
fants could not be prevented from weeping continually, 
were accustomed to make a pilgrimage to it. The Feast 
of St. Gregory was a gala day for the young and old of 
Louvain and the surrounding villages. Crowds of mu- 
sicians and peddlars could be seen on that day all 
around Mont-Cesar. The young, who had hoarded up 
their money for St. Gregory's Feast, freely spent it in 
buying toys, fruits and cakes. The aged citizens of 
Louvain could be seen seated on the green sward in 
front of the chapel, telling wonderful tales about the 
Knights of St. John, or giving fabulous accounts of the 
venerable Castrum Csesaris. 

The English Jesuits, being driven by fire and sword 
from their own country, rented a house on Mont-Cesar 
adjoining "La Commanderie," in 1607. This house was 
opened as a Novitiate for young Jesuits by Father Par- 
sons, the same year, with six priests, two scholastics 
and five lay brothers. Here Father Andrew White, the 
" Apostle of America," began his noviceship on the 1st 
of February, 1607. 



99 



Only two years after its foundation this novitiate gave 
its first martyr to heaven in the person of Father 
Thomas Garnett, nephew to the Provincial, who was 
executed at Tyburn, in June, 1608. Father Thomas was 
a true son of St. Ignatius. On reaching the gallows he 
kissed it in a transport of joy, declaring that it was the 
happiest day of his life. 

In 1614, in consequence of the remonstrance of the 
English Government, the novitiate was transferred to 
Liege. The English novitiate at Louvain was estab- 
lished through the munificence of the pious Dona Louisa 
de Carvajal. Father Thomas Talbot was its first Rector. 
Father Henry More, the distinguished historian of the 
English Province, and the great grand-son of the 
martyred Chancellor, Sir Thomas More, entered the novi- 
tiate on the 19th of November, 1607. He was remarkable 
as a linguist. Father Gerard said of him: "Father Henry 
More hath French well, Dutch prettily, and Italian suf- 
ficiently, besides Spanish very well, and Latin as I would 
wish him." 

Father More became Provincial of the English Prov- 
ince, and was cast into prison for his services to religion. 
He was twice declared rector of St. Omer's College. He 
died at Watten, of apoplexy, December, 1661, aged 
seventy-five. 

Father More faithfully described the novitiate as 
seated on " high ground, commanding the whole city; 
below was a walled garden, and on the slopes of the 
hill pleasant walks among the vines, which were arrang- 
ed in terraces, and the whole, though within the city 



100 



walls, as quiet and calm as befitted a house of prayer." 

In 1626 the Convent of the Hospitallers and the ad- 
joining Jesuit novitiate were rented to the Irish Dom- 
inicans. These remained there only until 1656. After 
that period a secular took care of the convent belong- 
ing to the Hospitallers. This convent was sold in 
1799 for 80,000 livres, and was immediately afterwards 
destroyed. 

The Dominican Convent stood to the north of the 
Castrum Csesaris, between the rocky stairs and the road 
which leads to the canal. We can still see some of the 
cloistered outbuildings of that establishment. 

Where the Dominican Church was built now stand 
three or four private houses. One of these houses, a 
few years ago, was in the possession of an old French 
captain. This gentleman assured me that a piece of 
fine-cut stone, which he pointed out to me near the top 
of his residence, was the only relic preserved from the 
Church of St. John. 

I visited with a Irish-American student of philoso- 
phy — a young gentleman who took great interest in the 
archaeology of the Irish convents on the Continent — an 
old stable near the above mentioned private buildings, 
and which was connected with one of them by means of 
a covered gallery. This was the English Jesuit noviti- 
ate. After examining the premises closely by means of 
match lights — we had to use lights, for the place was 
dark and gloomy — we had the good fortune to find 
pasted against an old door, whose cobwebs were almost 
as old as the door, a plain picture, representing St. 



101 



Andre, St. Eligio and St. Bartolo. St. Andre was em- 
bracing his cross; St. Eligio held a hammer and a crown 
in his right hand, while in his left he held a book and a 
crozier; St. Bartolo had his right hand lifted, and 
seemed to be pointing towards heaven. 

Underneath the picture were some Flemish verses, a 
prayer to " Heyligen Eloy," and a brief sketch of that 
saint's life. 

It was Richard Birmingham, of the Convent of 
Athenry, who procured for the Irish Dominicans their 
house on Mont-Cesar. Its first Rector was Oliver Burke, 
a native of Gal way. Father O'Daly, Dominicus aBosario, 
was lecturer of divinity in it. 

I believe it was before taking the house on Mont- 
Cesar that the Dominicans lived in a house on Rue St. 
Jacques. That they had a house on that street I learn- 
ed from some old maps furnished me by Fr. De Backer, 
the Belgian writer. After leaving Mont-Cesar they 
opened a house on a street which is called to this day 
" Rue des Dominicains Irlandais." Scarcely the last 
relics of this house, or of the church of St. Thomas 
Aquinas, can now be seen. The present writer while 
searching for them was directed by a Fleming to the 
house of the Little Sisters of the Poor, on the adjoining 
street. The Louvain Dominican houses produced sev- 
eral men of great learning, Christopher French, of 
Galway, completed his studies at Louvain, and took out 
his degree as Doctor of Divinity. He became Master 
of Students, and wrote several theological works. He 
afterwards became one of the professors at Rome. He 



102 



was highly esteemed for his virtue and learning by Car- 
dinal Palavincini, who invited him to Osimo, in Ancona, 
as professor. Edmund Burke, also of Galway, reflects 
honor on the convent of his Order at Louvain. He be- 
gan his studies in his native place, and afterwards con- 
tinued them at Pampheluna, Salamanca, and Madrid. 
He took all his degrees at Louvain with great applause. 
In this city he became the principal Regent of the 
Dominican College. "He was,'' says an old author, 
" well skilled in sholastic Divinity, and doctrine of St. 
Thomas Aquinas, as the Theses he published, and the 
Treatises he wrote on these subjects show." Burke was 
a prolific writer, and devoted his pen to elucidating the 
most difficult points in the Angelic Doctor. The Right 
Rev. Dominick De Burgo, of the Dominican Order spent 
some time with his religious brethren in Louvain. " In 
the war of rebellion against King James 11. he was com- 
pelled to take refuge in the city of Galway, out of his 
diocese, which was Elphin. King James and his queen 
esteemed him much. When he was driven into exile, 
King Louis of France offered him an abbey, but he pre- 
ferred to go to Louvain, and share the poverty of his 
Order in the college of the Holy Cross there." 



103 
EKIN'S PKAYER 



! Master of the ocean vast. 
Let ocean drink my sorrow ; 

Speak but the word, and night shall pass, 
And bright shall shine my morrow. 

II. 

Some vainly fear that were I free, 

"Were I a rich, great nation, 
I'd basely turn away from Thee, 

And lose my Christian station. 

in. 

Some fear to break my galling chains. 
They fear from Thee I'd sever ; 

Thou art my Lord — in freedom's light 
I'll do Thy will forever. 

IV. 

1 clung to Thee in woe and want, 
Thy cross shines through my story ; 

Why should I leave Thee in the blaze 
Of freedom, or of glory? 

V. 

Kind Master, show poor, erring man, 
That freedom comes from heaven, 

That with the gift of liberty 
Thy grace is always given. 



104 



THE lEISH DOMINICAN CONVENT, LISBON. 



The Spanish Rulers of Portugal favored the Irish stu- 
dents in that country as well as in their own, and in the 
Netherlands. They did not consider the mere Irish as 
firebrands, rebels, and traitors. King Philip IV. being 
anxious to found an Irish Dominican College in Lisbon, 
Father Dominick O'Daly, Dominick a Bosario, was called 
to that city. The new establishment was called Corpo 
Santo, and was situated in Rua Nova de Almada. O'Daly 
was chosen first Eector of this house. He afterwards 
founded a convent for Irish Dominican nuns, called Bon 
Success, at Lisbon. 

" When Portugal," says Harris, " had thrown off the 
yoke of the Spaniards, and advanced John, Duke of 
Braganza, to the throne, O'Daly was appointed Confes- 
sor to the new Queen, and was in such high esteem with 
the King, that he employed him in many weighty affairs 
during his reign. In 1655, the King sent him as Am- 
bassador to Louis XIV., King of France, to treat of a 
league of affinity between the two Crowns. Having ar- 
rived at Paris, he would not depart from the Rules of 
his Order, but took up his residence in the Convent of 
St. Honoratus. Yet he complied so far as to go to audi- 
ence with the usual state of an Ambassador. When the 
King died on the 6th of November, 1656, he celebrated 



105 



the ascension of his son and heir, Alphonsus, to the 
throne of Portugal with great solemnity at Paris, gave 
public largesses to the people, and had splendid fire- 
works on the Seine." He was recalled the same year. 
He died in 1662, at Paris. He was a man of singular 
piety, great zeal, a skilful writer, and an ardent lover of 
his country, the story of whose wrongs he laid before 
Europe in one of his books. The celebrated Cardinal 
Baronius gives him a high character for his integrity, 
modesty, and contempt of worldly honors. " He came 
a youth from Ireland," writes Baronius, "to Spain, 
where being received into the Dominican Order, he pur- 
sued his studies in the Province of Castile, and there 
drew in such seeds of piety and wisdom, as became the 
admiration of Louvain, Madrid, France, and almost of 
all Europe. In the name of the Catholic King, Philip 
HI., he transacted affairs of great weight and moment 
with Charles I., King of England. Being clothed with 
the title of Archbishop of Goa he refused the promotion, 
and was afterwards sent Envoy of Portugal to the Most 
Christian King ; where he became the love and venera- 
tion of the whole Court, and carried with him this char- 
acter, that nobody ever was more happy in uniting piety with 
prudence, a religious modesty and humility with the gravity 
and wisdom of an Ambassador. Why then should I men- 
tion the three bishoprics refused by him ?" The bishop- 
rics he refused are supposed by Ware, to be Goa, Coim- 
bra, and Braga. Many honors were conferred on O'Daly 
in Portugal. He was Censor of the Inquisition, Visitor- 
General and Yicar-General of the kingdom. In the ga- 



106 



laxy of Irish students of Penal Times, Dominick a Rosa- 
rio, is a star of the first magnitude. In him shone the 
brightest virtues and the highest qualities of a man and 
of a religious. He was undazzled by honors, and main- 
tained his vigor and zeal even when crowned with suc- 
cess. In the midst of the splendors of foreign Courts 
he still cherished in his heart a deep tenderness for the 
blessed " Homes of Ireland." While in the company of 
kings and queens his mind was wandering back to the 
princes of his native land, his mind was filled with the 
glory of the brave Geraldines. In festive halls his eyes 
filled with tears as he pondered on the wrongs and suf- 
ferings of his Irish Catholic countrymen. With a pen 
of fire he depicted the butcheries of the reign of Eliza- 
beth. 

Father James Arthur died in the Dominican Convent, 
Lisbon, about the year 1670. He joined the sons of St. 
Dominick in the Abbey of St. Stephen, at Salamanca. 
He was a distinguished author and teacher. He lec- 
tured with great applause in several convents in his Or- 
der in Spain, was Doctor and Professor of Divinity for 
many years at Salamanca. He was afterwards solicited 
to go to Portugal to teach the first chair of Divinity in 
the University of Coimbra. He fully answered the high 
idea conceived of him as to learning and merit and held 
his chair with great applause until the Portuguese sepa- 
rated from the Spaniards. He wrote a Commentary on 
the Summa of St. Thomas. When overtaken by death 
he had in preparation a work on the Angelic Doctor to 
consist of ten volumes. 



107 
THE IRISH PEASANT'S SONG. 



I bless Thee, God, who gave me love 
For this, my humble home ; 

I find sweet joys within this cot 
Ne'er felt by those who roam. 

I hear at noon our chapel-bell, 
At eve, my childrens' prayer ; 

I have a friendly face to see 
Around me everywhere. 

I know each voice that greets me here, 

I know the hands I take ; 
I read the eyes that look on me, 

I know how free to make. 

My little field is blessed clay, 
The dust of monk and nun ; 

The morning air is loaded still 
With hymns of saints long gone. 

I've often heard that those who go 

In foreign lands to roam, 
"With eyes all wet, and hearts full sore. 

Sigh for their Irish home. 

Then tell me not of happy lands 

Far o'er the raging sea ; 
My Irish roof, my Irish cot 

Make Paradise for me. 



108 
REFUGE OF THE WRETCHED. 



(One of the titles given our Lady, in the old Gaelic Litany, is 
Refuge of the Wretched.) 

Refuge of tlie Wretched, my soul is dark with woe, 
Eefuge of the Wretched, no light around me glow, 
Refuge of the Wretched, my heart with pain will break, 
Refuge of the Wretched, no j oy from life I take ; 
Help me, help me, Mother, O! let me hear thy voice, 
Thy tone alone, Mother, can make my soul rejoice. 

Mother, were I happy, did my hours in sweetness roll. 
Were there sunshine in my heart, and music in my soul, 
Were I never pierced by sorrow, never touched by pain. 
Were I like a seraph, all free from every shade of stain, — 
Refuge of the Wretched, I could not hope from Thee 
More true love, more sure love, than in my Misery. 



109 



THE CONVENT OF SAINT ANTHONY OF PADUA, 

LOUVAIN. 



No Irish convent, founded during the Penal Days, is 
more renowned, or more venerated than the Franciscan 
School of St. Anthony of Padua, Louvain. 'This vener- 
able home of learning and piety is crowned with a glory 
such as enshrines the hallowed ruins of the famous 
Schools of Lismore, Clonard, and Bangor. With feel- 
ings akin to awe the patriotic Irish tourist, or student, 
stands beneath its holy roof. Many of its students and 
professors were distinguished as theologians, renowned 
as Celtic scholars, and are honored as martyrs for their 
country and religion. The glorious memory of our 
early Irish churches, schools and monasteries, founded 
on Europe's continent, is, alas, unfortunately passing 
away. Who now thinks of the Irish monastery raised 
by St. Fridolin on the banks of the Moselle ? Who now 
dreams of the great Irish monastery, founded by St. 
Gall, by the waters of the Stinace ? Who now is mind- 
ful of the hermitage of Cataldus that once stood near 
the hamlet of San Cataldo ? The Irish monasteries at 
Alt-Munster, at Batisbon, at Wurtzburg, Nuremberg, 
and Vienna, are almost all forgotten;— bufc the fame of 
St. Anthony's Convent grows brighter day by day. 

While searching in the Jesuit library of Louvain for 



110 



some documents relating to this great college, I met, in 
a work by Father De Backer, the distinguished Belgian 
writer, the following note: " Voyez une dissertation tres 
remarquable du P. Victor De Buck intitulee, ' L'Archeo- 
logie Irlandaise au Convent de Saint Antoine de Padoue 
a. Louvain;' dans les Etudes Eeligieuses, etc., Paris, 
1869. p. 408-437 et 586-603." This note proved most 
useful to me; I went immediately to see Father De 
Backer, who resided in our college, and who always re- 
ceived me most kindly, and asked him if he had the 
article, spoken of in the note, at his command. To my 
great pleasure he arose from behind his large pile of 
old books and pamphlets and procured for me, from a 
select library adjoining his room, Les Etudes Religieuses. 
In this magazine was contained the grand article of 
Father De Buck : " L'Archeologie Irlandaise au Convent 
de Saint Antoine de Padoue a Louvain." 

Though we intend to give all the interesting facts 
and reflections of Father De Buck relative to St. An- 
thony's Convent, we will take the liberty of interspers- 
ing them with facts gleaned from other trustworthy 
sources. The archaeologists of whom we are about to 
speak, says Father De Buck, who is referring to "Ward, 
Colgan, Cleary and Mooney, were priests and religious, 
professors or missionaries; the study of the religious 
antiquities of their country was a mere accessory occu- 
pation for them. Their central point was the Convent 
of St. Anthony of Padua, at Louvain, which served the 
Irish Franciscans as a Novitiate and Seminary, and 
which they sometimes called a College. The erection of 



Ill 



this convent was due to Florence Conry, Arclibishop of 
Tuam. This prelate, who had been a member of the 
Order of St. Francis, saw with grief the manner in 
which the young Irishmen of his Institute were formed. 
They were scattered throughout the different convents 
of Spain, France, Italy and Belgium. Though their 
brethren on the continent received them with great 
charity, and gave them the ablest masters in sacred and 
profane sciences, still it was a serious disadvantage to 
them not to be united, and formed together, for the one 
grand Mission for which they sighed. The Irish Pro- 
vince, from the year 1601, had acquired at Louvain, near 
the church of Saint Jacques, a residence occupied by 
young students. Conry obtained in 1606, or 1609, from 
King Philip HI., the means of building a regular con- 
vent. That was a proud and joyous day for the Irish 
Franciscans, in 1616, when the corner-stone of St. An- 
thony's convent was laid. They did not know then how 
famous their new home would one day become, what a 
source of benefit it would be to Ireland, what a glory it 
would be to the Order. Though good religious, they 
were weary of wandering from city to city, from coun- 
try to country, in search of an asylum, a resting-place. 
They could not help, at times, of growing tired of 
strange tongues and strange faces. They knew how 
sweet and pleasant it is for brothers to dwell together. 
They longed to be in a home of their own where they 
could cultivate with advantage the studies they loved ; 
where they could hear, at least in time of recreation, 
the music of their native tongue. To increase the ex- 



112 



ultation of the poor exiles, tlie Prince and Princess, Al- 
bert and Isabella, came from Brussels, attended by 
many distinguished Irish soldiers and scholars, to lay 
the foundation. We may be sure, too, that many dis- 
tinguished Professors from the University, and many fa- 
mous warriors from different parts of the Netherlands, out 
of compliment to their brother-officers of Irish blood, and 
out of regard for the exiled sons of St. Francis, were 
preseLt on the occasion. "When St. Fridolin rebuilt the 
monastery of St. Hilary, at Poictiers, he was assisted by 
King Clovis. This was a great honor ; but we are in- 
clined to think that the Irish Franciscans felt as happy 
in having the Governors of the Low Countries present 
on the commencement of their convent as the saint was 
to have the great King of France present at the re- 
building of his monastery. Albert, the seventh son of 
Maximilian II., emperor of Austria, and Isabella, daugh- 
ter of Philip II., of Spain, were far more illustrious on 
account of their virtues than by reason of the currents 
of royal blood flowing through their veins. Albert, by his 
kindness and generosity, won the hearts of his subjects, 
while his virtuous consort edified them by her great piety 
and zeal for religion. According to all writers, the pal- 
ace at Brussels, during their government, resembled 
more a monastery than a court. Purity of manners and 
perfect order were found there. When reading of the 
regal home of the Governors of the Netherlands we are 
reminded of the days of St. Louis. Like the holy King 
of France, these two royal consorts were fond of study, 
and were great patrons and friends of the devoted sons 



113 



of literature. They delighted in the company and con- 
versation of religious and priests. It is with no small 
share of pride — we hope to be forgiven for it — that we 
recall the fact that two Irish priests were chosen by Al- 
bert and Isabella as their chaplains. Father Archer, the 
patriotic son of St. Ignatius, was one of them, while the 
famous literateur, Father Richard Stanihurst, was the 
other. 

The Governors of the Netherlands were very friendly 
towards the persecuted Irish Catholics. When Hugh 
O'Neill and Eory O'Donel visited Brussels, the most 
distinguished personages of that city gathered around 
them. The illustrious General Spinola, the hero of Os- 
tend, and the captor of Aix-la-Chapelle, Wesel, and 
Breda, tendered them a banquet, "of which," says 
O'Keenan, " a king might be proud ; and there was 
plate, gold and silver, of which no crowned head in 
Christendom could have been ashamed." Father 
Meehan tells us that there were present at this feast, 
'* among other celebrities of the time, the Duke d'Au- 
male, the Marquis of Ossuna, the truly eminent Car- 
dinal Bentivoglio, then Nuncio of Paul V. in the 
Netherlands, Colonel Henry O'Neil, the Spanish Am- 
bassador from the Court of Madrid, and many others 
not less known to fame. O'Neill occupied Spinola's own 
chair at the centre of the table, the Pope's Nuncio on 
his right; Tyrconnell, the sons of O'Neill and Maguire 
being placed in due order on the same side; while the 
opposite one was filled by the Duke d'Aumale, the 
Spanish ambassador, the Duke d'Ossuna, Viceroy of 



114 



Sicily, the host himself, and many other noble and dis- 
tinguished personages." 

But the best friends of the exiled princes were Albert 
and Isabella, who not only showed them every mark of 
esteem and friendship, but appointed O'Neill a home on 
Mont-Cesar while he stayed at Louvain. The generous 
Princess took Bernard O'Neill as one of her favorite 
pages, and the Archduke promoted Henry O'Neill to 
the command of an Irish regiment then in their service. 
As the reader knows, both of these were the sons of 
the great Hugh. They honored also with high posi- 
tions in their armies, Rory O'Dougherty and Daniel 
O'Cahan, afterwards lieutenant-general to Owen Roe 
O'Neill. 

We hope the reader will pardon this digression, as 
we trust it will not prove wholly uninteresting to him. 

St. Anthony's convent soon became a school to which 
Ireland owes a deep debt of gratitude. " With the an- 
nals of Hugh Ward, in 1632," says a writer in the " Irish 
Ecclesiastical Record," " began the golden era of histori- 
cal studies in St. Anthony's. For fifty years the religi- 
tous of that convent pursued these studies with un- 
rivalled activity, although more than once their material 
resources were quite exhausted; and they merited for 
their convent the eulogy bestowed by no partial writer 
in our own days : ' No Franciscan college has maintained, 
with more zeal than this, the character of the order as 
expressed in their motto: Doctrma et Sanctitate.' " 

The community was generally large, having on an 
average, about forty brothers. At the time of its sup- 



115 



pression, however, in 1797, its members numbered only 
fifteen. According to Pareval, the historian of Louvain, 
their diet and apparel gave evidence of their poverty. 
Pareval wrote in 1667. A century later the "Guide 
fidele de Louvain " says: " we have often seen, and still 
can see among these religious, a number of distinguish- 
-ed men of the first nobility who make themselves capa- 
ble, by study and virtue, to go and defend the Catholic 
Keligion in England and Ireland .... there are even 
many of them who have undergone trials, imprisonment 
and cruel tortures for their faith." Among the Bishops 
and Archbishops sent out from St. Anthony's were 
Hugh MacCaghwell, appointed Archbishop of Armagh 
on the 2d of April, 1626 ; Thomas Fleming, appointed 
Archbishop of Dublin, 23d of October, 1623; Florence 
Conry, appointed Archbishop of Tuam, in 1608; Boetius 
MacEagan, appointed Bishop of Elphin in 1625; and 
Hugh (Bonaventure) Magennis, appointed Bishop of 
Down and Connor on the 9th of April, 1630. 

Dr. Hugh MacCaghwell was a learned prelate, and 
the author of several works. " His Mirror of the Sac- 
rament of Penance," which was printed at Antwerp in 
1618, while he was professor of divinity at St. Anthony's 
College, is the only one destined for popular reading. 
His other publications were intended for scholastic 
readers, by whom his name is still remembered and 
highly esteemed. He made his novitiate in Salamanca, 
where he had among his fellow novices, eleven, who 
were afterwards Bishops in different parts of the globe. 
"Dr. Hugh MacCaghwell, called in Latin, Cavellus," 



116 



writes a modern Irish author, " succeeded to the Prim- 
acy immediately after the death of Dr. Lombard. Mac- 
Caghwell was born in the County Down, in the year 
1572, studied in the Franciscan Convent of Salamanca, 
and took out his degree of Bachelor licentiate, and 
Doctor of Divinity, with great eclat. Believing himself 
called to the religious state, he gave himself to the Ob- 
servantine Friars Minors of St. Francis, and co-operated 
by his influence and exertions with Dr. Florence Conry, 
in establishing at Louvain the College of St. Anthony 
of Padua, for Irish Franciscans. It is probable that he 
also contributed his meed of assistance to the establish- 
ment founded at Eome by Luke Wadding, although it 
would seem that Wadding derived much more efficaci- 
ous aid from his relative Dr. Lombard, who then enjoyed 
much favour and influence at the Boman Court. Dr. 
MacCaghwell taught theology for about nine years; 
first at the college of St. Anthony, of Padua, immedi- 
ately after the foundation, and afterwards, from about 
1623, at the convent of Ara Cceli at Bome; and was, 
moreover, for some time Definitor General of the Ob- 
servantines or reformed Franciscans. In his theological 
.^lectures he adopted the method and opinions of his 
"brother-Franciscan and countryman, John Duns Scotus 
(the Irishman), whose airy abstractions, refined subtle- 
ties, and infinitesimal distinctions he delighted to ex- 
pound, and whose opinions he defended with much 
metaphysical ingenuity against one of the most volum- 
inous writers of that age, Abraham Bzovius, a Polish 
Dominican. He possessed very superior talents, and 



117 



was highly distinguished as an acute metaphysician and 
a perfect master of scholastic divinity; the matter and 
manner of which as then taught he greatly admired. 
But what was still more worthy of praise, ' he was/ says a 
modern Protestant writer, ' a man of singular humility, 
piety, zeal, and personal courage/ Recommended by 
these qualifications, he was appointed to the see of 
Armagh, by Pope Urban VHI., March 17th, 1626. This 
noble-minded prelate, with a disinterestedness and in- 
trepidity, worthy of a successor of the apostles, did not 
' make his life more precious than himself ;' but offering 
it in sacrifice on the altar, at which he was consecrated, 
determined to brave all dangers and risk every torture 
for the flock of Christ committed to his care. He eagerly 
hastened to repair to his diocese, completed his prepara- 
tions for the journey, paid his parting visit to his friends 
in Rome, and bid them a last farewell. But just when 
he had overcome every obstacle to his return, and his 
will had rejected every fear and fully completed the 
merit of the sacrifice, he was suddenly called to receive 
the reward. He died after a few days' sickness, on the 
22d of September, 1626. His remains were interred in 
the cemetery of the convent of St. Isidore, where, a few 
years after, a monument was erected to his memory." 

Abraham Bzovius, against whom MacCaghwell de- 
fended the opinions of the Subtle Doctor, taught phil- 
osophy at Milan and theology at Bologne. He was the 
continuator of the Annals of Cardinal Baronius. He oc- 
cupied for some time an apartment in the Vatican, but 



118 



died in liis seventieth year, 1637, in the Dominican con- 
vent of Minerva. 

We owe lasting gratitude to MacCaghwell for the en- 
couragement he gave to the hagiologists of his Order. 
Without his aid, as Superior, many of their works would 
be incomplete indeed. 

Our Franciscan was a great favorite with Hugh, of 
Tyrone, who appointed him tutor to his sons, and sent 
him to Salamanca with Henry, who went there for the 
purpose of receiving an education suitable to one of his 
rank. 

Dr. MacCaghwell's edifying death is thus described 
by Fr. Meehan : " At his bed side, in the poor cell of 
St. Isidore, were two brothers, Edmund and Anthony 
Dungan, both Franciscans, and his most intimate 
friends. Turning to the former he calmly observed : ' I 
have always been weak of body, and am now about to 
leave this world ; to you, then, I bequeath my cross and 
ring, and to your brother I leave this poor habit, all 
that I have to give.' Then fixing his last look on a pict- 
ure of St. Anne, which was sent him from Sicily, and 
grasping the crucifix, he resigned his soul to God, and 
his renown to the schools. No one could have been 
more affected by his premature death than Pope Urban, 
who, on hearing it, remarked, ' We have lost not a man 
but an angel.' " 

When the news of MacCaghwell's demise reached 
Louvain, great was the distress of his Franciscan broth- 
ers. But it was not among the sons of St. Francis alone 
there was grief. Many distinguished professors mourn- 



119 



ed his loss and his obsequies were performed by the 
classic city on the Dyle as well as by the gorgeous city 
on the Tiber. His pangyric was delivered before a 
learned audience by no less an orator than Nicholas 
Vermulaens. The style of this distinguished man was 
harmonious and easy, and when lit by the fire of pas- 
sion, rolled on like a majestic river in the gold of full- 
day sunshine. We may easily imagine the effect he 
produced on the vast assembly of scholars and religious 
gathered before him, when he sketched the career of 
MacCaghwell from the time he dwelt in the princely 
halls of Tyrone to the moment he expired at St. Isi- 
dore's with the crucifix in his hands. " The life of great 
geniuses is," he said to his audience, " like that of flow- 
ers, brief and transitory; and the purple is oftener the 
apparel of death than of life." 

Thomas Fleming, Archbishop of Dublin, deserves 
well of Ireland. In the face of the Penal Laws against 
Catholic education in Ireland he opened schools not 
only for the youth of his diocese, but likewise aspirants 
to the priesthood. He did everything in his power to 
mitigate the sufferings of his flock. Though belonging 
to the noble house of Slane, he became the father of the 
poor, and " the servant of all." "Passionately fond of 
the ancient literature of Ireland," writes Father Mee- 
han, " he generously entertained IVIichael O'Clery in the 
convent of Dublin, and it was under that poor roof that 
the chief of the Four Masters found bed and board 
while transcribing a goodly portion of the material 
which was subsequently incorporated in the ' Annals of 



120 



Donegal.' To his brethren in Louvain he extended the 
same patronage, and it is to his fostering care we are 
indebted for Colgan's ' Triadis Thaumaturgus,' a fact 
gratefully acknowledged by the author, who states that 
the Archbishop transmitted to him many a rare book 
and valuable record, without which he could not have 
completed his noble work. These, surely, are evidences 
of an intellectual nobility, which, in that transition j)e- 
riod, strove to maintain the honor of Ireland, by pre- 
serving and perpetuating its ancient literature." 

Fleming was but a mere boy when he went to Lou- 
vain for the purpose of studying for the priesthood. 
He made great progress in his studies, and while still 
young became a professor at St. Anthony's. It is no 
mean fame to him to have been the preceptor of John 
Colgan and his near kinsman, Patrick Fleming. But to 
come back to the history of St. Anthony's. During al- 
most a century it was forbidden to the Irish Franciscans 
to beg in Louvain, and the annual alms promised by the 
Spanish Court did not arrive regularly ; but this was 
atoned for by extraordinary gifts. The years 1686 and 
1687 were particularly severe ; however, God did not 
abandon his servants. Thanks to the charity of the 
faithful, and the donations of the Government, this sa- 
cred refuge for Irish science, and Irish piety, was pre- 
served until the second invasion of Belgium by the 
French Republicans. 

Dr. Conry's " first care," says the Ecclesiastical record, 
*' was to petition the Spanish monarch for the erection 
and endowment of a convent of the order in the citv 



121 



and University of Louvain. This request was readily 
granted ; and Philip m., by letters dated the 21st of 
September, 1606, signified his pleasure to the Archduke 
Albert, Governor of the Low Countries, as also to the 
Marquis Spinola, commander of the forces there, that 
the petition of Father Conry should be granted without 
de^ay, and that one thousand Spanish ducats per annum 
should be allotted for the support of the new college. 
Some difficulties, however, arose in Louvain about the 
erection of this national Franciscan convent ; and early 
in the following year we find Father Conry addressing 
a petition to the reigning Pontiff, Paul Y., soliciting 
*apostolicke authoritie for building the intended col- 
ledge,' and asking at the same time, a confirmation of 
the royal pension accorded by Philip III. A brief of 
his Holiness, granting all the requests of the Franciscan 
Provincial, was published on the 3rd of April, 1607, and 
the letters of the Archduke Albert and of Isabella, com- 
manding that this brief should be put into immediate 
execution, are dated on the 17th of August, 1607. The 
erection of the building was at once proceeded with, 
and just two years from the date of the papal Brief, that 
is, the 3d of April, 1609, an official, deputed by the 
Archbishop of Mechlin, visited the new college, and in 
canonical form declared it duly * erected and instituted 
for the Franciscans of the Lish nation.' " 

Paul v., whose Brief proved so beneficial to the L'ish 
Franciscans at Louvain, was a great friend of religious 
bodies in general. He seemed fully persuaded that 
there could not be too many asylums for piety in the 



122 



midst of the corruption and slime of this world. But 
this should not in the least lessen our gratitude 
towards him for the kind favor he showed the founders 
of St. Anthony's college. When the great benefactors 
of that college are mentioned, the name of Paul V., 
Pope and Bishop of Home, must not be passed over in 
silence. 

" If the new Irish foundation at Louvain was for- 
tunate in having such a founder, it was, perhaps, still 
more fortunate in having Father Donatus Mooney for 
it first guardian. He was a man earnestly devoted 
to the study of the antiquities in Ireland, and to him we 
are especially indebted for that Irish historical school 
which soon became characteristic of St. Anthony's, and 
enabled it, in after times, to render such service, and 
shed such light on the early monuments of our his- 
tory." 

While as yet a Franciscan novice. Father Mooney 
suffered imprisonment for the faith. He was living 
with the Provincial of the Order, Father John Gray, 
in the monastery of Multifernan, and the aged Bishop 
of Kilmore, Dr. Eichard Brady, had chosen the same 
sanctuary as a safe retreat. They were, however, all 
seized in 1601, and dragged to prison, where our young* 
novice lingered for some months. While yet in prison 
he completed his novitiate, and was admitted to the 
holy vows of his Order by his fellow-captive, the 
Father Provincial. Soon after, he was liberated, but 
on the condition that he should seek a home in exile on 
the continent. 



123 



The chronicle of the Order adds that " he was a man 
of great ability and learning. After teaching philoso- 
phy and theology in France, he was appointed the first 
guardian of the Convent of St. Anthony in Louvain, and 
subsequently he held a similar office in Drogheda. He 
was a distinguished preacher, and strenuously labored 
for the conversion of the heretics, and the salvation of 
the faithful. Being elected Provincial of the Order, in 
the chapter held in Waterford in 1615, he for three 
years faithfully discharged the duties of that arduous 
post." Father Mooney seems to have had a special 
talent for the reconstruction of the walls of the sanctu- 
ary in Ireland. 

In 1610 he was sent as superior to Drogheda, to re- 
store the house of the Order, which, from the middle 
of the 13th century, had flourished till the year 1546, 
when it was reduced to ruins by Moses Hill, one of the 
unprincipled agents of the lawless Monarch, Henry 
VHI. From an account of this Franciscan mission in 
Drogheda, which was forwarded to Rome in 1623, we 
learn some interesting details regarding the Irish 
Church of that period of its desolation .... It was 
also through the exertions of Father Mooney, the Fran- 
ciscan Order was re-established in Dublin, in 1615. 
Father Mooney, as we have seen, was chosen Provincial 
of the Order in Ireland, in 1615. The following year 
he proceeded to St. Anthony's at Louvain, to watch over 
the growth of that institution; and during the leisure 
months that he enjoyed there, composed the history of 
his Order in Ireland — a work of vast research and full 



124 



of invaluable details, not only regarding tlie early toun- 
dations of the various Franciscan convents, but still 
more illustrative of the desolation and ruin that fell 
upon the Irish Church during the sad era of the Eef or- 
mation, under Henry VIII., Elizabeth, and James I. It 
has been embodied and popularized in the interesting 
*' History of the Rise and Fall of the Irish Franciscan 
Monasteries," by Rev. P. C. Meehan — a work full of in- 
terest to all students of Irish literature. 

There is another Franciscan Father who merits to be 
mentioned among the first promoters of Celtic studies 
at St. Anthony's. This was Giolla-Brigid, or Bonaven- 
ture Hussey, a native of Ulster, who, in the chronicles 
of the Order, is described as a man held in great esteem 
for his singular skill in the language and history of 
Ireland." 

In a manuscript list of the first religious who received 
the habit in the convent of St. Anthony, we find the 
name, " Bonaventura Hosaeus, antea Brigidus, diocesis 
Cloghorensis, admissus die 1 Novembris 1607." O'Reilly, 
in his " Irish Writers," states that in 1608, Father 
Hussey published his prose Irish Catechism in Louvain, 
the first book printed on the continent in Irish, and 
that it was re-printed at Antwerp in 1611. We suspect, 
however, that the date of its publication in Louvain 
should be 1618, in which year an edition of it, under 
the title of " The Christian Doctrine," is mentioned by 
Anderson. At all events, it was only in 1611 that the 
Irish typographical press was established at St. An- 
thony's, as we learn from the following passage of the 



125 



history of the Order, written in 1630 : " The Irish con- 
vent of Louvain, for the salvation of souls in the king- 
dom of Ireland, established in the year 1611, a printing- 
press, with the proper type for the Irish letters, which, 
on account of the prevailing heretical rule, was hereto- 
fore impracticable to the Catholics of that kingdom, 
and printed some books in the Irish language, to the 
great advantage of the faithful." Father Hussey also 
composed a metrical catechism, in two hundred and 
forty verses, which, a century later, was published by 
Donlevy, as an appendix to his own famous catechism, 
in the Irish language. O'Reilly mentions several other 
unpublished poems composed by the same writer, some 
of which are preserved in the Royal Irish Academy. 

The extract from the history of the Order just cited 
mentions some books printed in the Irish language at St. 
Anthony's. It is not easy now to determine what these 
books were ; one of them, no doubt, was the Irish 
catechism of Dr. Conry ; another was the " Mirror of 
Penance," published in 1618, by Hugh MacCaghwell, 
O.S.F., who was subsequently appointed to the prima- 
tial See of Armagh — as we have already seen. In a 
manuscript catalogue of the books of the Irish convent 
of Louvain, made about the year 1675, we find men- 
tion of another work, with the title, " Acta Sanctarum 
Virginum Hibernise," which some time before had been 
lent to the convent of Donegal. Perhaps this, too, may 
have been one of the books referred to in the above 
extract. At all events the Irish type of St. Anthony's 
continued for many years to , render good service to 



126 



Irish literature. The illustrious annalist, Michael O'Clery, 
availed himself of it when publishing his " Glossary," in 
1643. Father Anthony Gernon, another Irish Francis- 
can, made use of it in 1645, for his "Paradise of the 
^oul," a Jesuit, Father Bichard MacGillacuddy (better 
known by his Anglicized name of Archdekin), printed 
with it a "Treatise on Miracles," in 1677; and Colgan 
and his brother hagiologists made frequent use of it in 
the Irish extracts inserted in their various Latin works. 
The type was still preserved at St. Anthony's in 1675, 
but there was then but little encouragement for Irish 
publications. In the manuscript list of the books be- 
longing to the convent, of which we have already spoken, 
the following passage is added, as precious as it is 
concise, giving the only reference to this Irish type 
which we have been able to discover in contemporary 
records : 

" In a plain chest is preserved the type of the print- 
ing-press ; the key is over the chest. In the pulpit 
there is one silver chalice belonging to the convent of 
Donegal, a small case of the relics of various saints, 
and the silver seal belonging to O'Donnell. In the 
first of the upper rooms, in a small chest is the Irish 
type, with its own forms; also several copies of Colgan's 
works. Ward's St. Rumold, the Fochloir (i. e. O'Clery's 
Glossary), and some skins for the covers of books." 

We are told by writers on the subject, that St. An- 
thony's convent was not always a peaceful asylum for 
the Irish exiles. Its tranquillity was more than once 
disturbed by the wars that so long raged in the Nether- 



127 



lands; tlie Emperor Joseph II., 1782, made some in- 
tolerable laws regarding it, while two years later an 
inundation of the Dyle swept away its cattle, wood and 
property of every kind. The Convent, which was rebuilt 
in 1753, was suppressed in 1797. The dark, and for 
Ireland the sad day on which this act of injustice and 
folly took place was the 8th of January. The Superior, 
at the time of the suppression, was James Cowan, of 
Newry, Ireland. It was publicly sold at Brussels, on 
the 22d of April following. The Guardian bought it 
by means of some money which was sent to his religi- 
ous. But in 1822 he made it over in favor of Father J. 
Van Andenrode, doctor of theology, for the benefit of 
the English missions. Father Van Andenrode gave it 
into the hands of the brothers of Charity. There is no 
difficulty for the visitor to Louvain, if he wishes to visit 
this convent. It stands on " La place St.-Antoine " or 
" St.-Antonius-Plaets," near the Convent of the Daugh- 
ters of Mary, or as it is called by the people — " Parid- 
aens." The excellent Brothers of Charity are very kind 
to strangers ; without the least hesitation they show 
them the inscriptions on the slabs in the wall and on 
the floor, the old refectory, the chapel, etc. 

It may interest the reader to know that " Paridaens," 
which was once the Dutch College, had the notorious 
Jansenius for its President. The " Tower of Jansenius," 
where he wrote his Augustinus, is not far from "Pari- 
daens." 

" But a few months since," says the Dublin Freeman's 
Journal, on the 1st of Jan., 1879, " the Bev. James Byan, 



128 



D. D., of the archdiocese of Cashel, appealed to the Irish 
public through our columns for funds necessary to re- 
store some interesting . monuments of distinguished 
Irishmen and Irishwomen resting beneath the cloisters 
of the old Irish Franciscan Convent of St. Anthony, 
Louvain. The sum asked for was only £20, which was 
promptly subscribed, and the subscriptions were ac- 
knowledged at the time in our paper. The patriotic 
priest of Cashel lost no time in getting the work accom- 
plished, by engaging the services of the Rev. Dr. Ruys- 
sens, Professor of Archseology in Louvain, and in pro- 
curing correct copies of the effaced inscriptions, which 
have been faithfully restored on the tombs. These have 
been taken up from under foot in the common cloister 
passage, and placed as mural adornments, safe from 
further effacement. The Eev. Mr, Eyan had the great 
pleasure of finding the w^hole projected work completed 
last October, and to the perfect satisfaction of all the 
Iiish University residents and archaeologists of Louvain. 
The work, however, although based on the most mod- 
erate estimate, cost somewhat more than had been at 
first supposed, some marble inlaying and repairing the 
cloister being required ; yet we are happy to announce 
that the sums collected by the Eev. Fr. Cary, O. S. F., 
and the Eev. Father O'Hanlen, C. C, sufficed for the 
work, leaving a small balance in the Eev. Mr. Eyan's 
hands. This gentleman is at present in Eome, but he 
purposes returning to Louvain, when he would be ex- 
ceedingly anxious to procure means to achieve a still 
greater work for Ireland. The celebrated preservers of 



129 



our country's history in the sixteenth century, Father 
Hugh Ward, Father John Colgan, etc., are buried in St. 
Anthony's Convent, yet no monument marks their re- 
spective graves. The Brothers of Charity have prom- 
ised a place in their chapel for a mural tablet to com- 
memorate them ; and if Irishmen are willing to furnish 
the small amount required, the Rev. Mr. Ryan, who re- 
turns to Belgium next summer, would most cheerfully 
complete a work, creditable alike to himself, to the illus 
trious dead, and to Irishmen all the world over. In any 
case, he means to erect a tablet, with an inscription 
commemorating the late restoration. We hope, how- 
ever, he shall be encouraged to accomplish all he de- 
sires, and in a manner to delight his countrymen at 
home and abroad." 



130 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF MAUKICE 
EUSTACE, S. J. 



(Maurice Eustace, a youth of great promise, entered the society of Jesus at 
Bruges, in Flanders, and having returned to Ireland was seized by the cruel 
soldiers of Elizabeth, and put to death for the Faith, on the 9th of June, 1588.) 



In abbeys gray, and ivied towers, 

The sweet toned bells are slowly ringing- 
Martyr-Novice, sleep in peace ; 
In chapels dim, and cloistered bowers, 
The holy nuns are sadly singing — 
Blessed Novice, rest in peace. 
Thou, Ignatius' loyal son, 
Palm and crown hast nobly won — 
Saintly Novice, rest in peace. 



II. 



Blessed the land that bore thee, 
Blessed the flowers now o'er thee, 
Blessed the friends that knew thee ; 
Bed the hands that slew thee ; 
Slew thee in thy lovely youth. 
Slew thee for thy God and Truth — 
Noble Novice rest in peace. 



131 
m. 

True disciple of the Cross, 
Erin weeps thee as her loss, 
Exiles near the Herbrides, 
Exiles on dark India's seas, 
Brown-cowled monks at Papal Home, 
Prelates 'neath St. Komold's dome, 
Pale- faced students at Louvain, 
Hoary chiefs in France and Spain ; 
All now j oin the sad refrain — 

Youthful martyr, rest in peace. 



IV. 



Hear that voice from street and steeple^ 

Erin's loved one, rest in peace. 
Hear their voice — the Irish people — 

Noble Eustace, sleep in peace ; 
O'er thy fate we must not sigh, 
Martyrs bleed but never die, 
Martyrs fall by axe or blade. 
But no grave for them is made — 

Erin's Martyr, rest in peace, 
Thou hast fallen for thy sireltmd, 
Eor the Faith of virgin Ireland, 

Thou hast fallen, torn, gory. 
But undying is thy story. 
But unclouded is thy glory — 

Hero-Novice sleep in peace. 



132 
OUE CKOSSES AND SHAMKOCKS. 



EuDB nations may boast of their might and their treasures, 
They may count in their pride their ships and their men. 

But virtue and faith are a country's true measures — 
The shamrock and cross are a power in each glen. 

The swords of our sires often won us pure glory, 

But from crosses we borrow the best of our light. 

Take away from Queen Erin her grand Christian story 

And you snatch from her crown the jewel most bright. 

Our lyres may be broken, our keen weapons rusted, 
And trampled the banners our forefathers bore, 

But we'll hold the loved faith to our country entrusted — 
Our crosses and shamrocks we'll keep evermore. 

St. Patrick's grand "Credo" by law was forbidden, 
His altars were razed through the land of the Gael, 

But Masses were chanted in caves deep and hidden, 
And faith lit the heart of our sweet Innisfail. 

The blood of our saints often dyed Erin's crosses, 

And shamrocks grew green 'neath the rain of their tears. 

But no suffering nor tortures we name as deep losses ; 
Our faith is the triumph of dark penal years. 

Loved faith of old Ireland, how fair is thy glowing 
Thy light is the purest that mortals can see ; 

The high throne of God is the source of thy flowing, 
No land is in bondage that thou hast set free. 



133 



Pull vain is the tyrant, full vain his endeavor, 

Who would drive away faith from Erin's brave shore ; 

Nor fire, nor the sword, nor white famine can sever 
Our hearts from the crosses and shamrocks of yore. 

Ye may hew down the oaks in our deep valleys springing. 
Ye may level our cots by each dark wood and sward ; 

Ye may exile each bard that we love for his singing, 

But our crosses and shamrocks for ever we'll guard. 

We scorn all your racks and your *'scavanger's daughters," 
We smile at your axes, your blocks, and your chain ; 

Ye may chase us with blood-hounds through brakes and o'er waters, 
But true to our faith we shall ever remain. 

The waves of wild ocean may sweep over our island. 

And only the hill-tops of Erin be seen ; 
Even then, even then these emeralds of dry land 

Will glow 'neath our crosses and shamrocks of green. 

When we sleep the long sleep by some bright Irish river, 

Or lie in cold clay on some far stranger shore, 
Be the cross our true friend to stand near us ever, 

May shamrocks grow green on our hearts evermore. 



134 



THE lEISH COLLEGE AT PAEIS. 



The Capital of France was always a favorite retreat 
for Irish students. They did not seek it on account of 
the gaiety and brilliancy of its society, but on account 
of its friendliness towards their country, and the re- 
nown of its University. Men who are preparing them- 
selves for a fierce and unequal combat, men who look 
forward to the prison and the scaffold, men who are the 
sons of murdered sires, and who look for the palm and 
crown of martyrdom, are not easily carried away by a 
fondness for the vanities and frivolities of this life. It 
is only those who have no exalted purpose in view, it is 
only those who do not deem life a warfare, it is only 
those who never reflect on eternal truths, that follow 
with eagerness the shadowy pleasures of this world. 
Historians like Thomas Messingham, the pious author 
of a " Garland of Irish Saints," or John Mageoghan, who 
wrote a History of Ireland and its sufferings, a great 
divine and controversialist like Cornelius Nary, men 
like Archbishop Queely and Geoffry Keating, were not 
the kind of men that go to form the vain society of a 
showy and thoughtless metropolis. 

In 1578, John Lee, an Irish priest, and some students 
who had escaped with him from the persecution of 
Elizabeth, founded the community afterwards known as 



135 



the Seminary of Irish Clerics. Thej were first estab- 
lished in the College of Montaigu and afterwards in the 
College of Navarre. The President de Lescalopier pur- 
chased a house for them in the Faubourg St. Germain, 
where they remained until 1667. In that year Malachy 
Kelly and Patrick McGinn, both Irish priests, obtained 
possession from the Government of the old College of 
the Lombards, founded by four Italians for students 
from Italy in 1330. The buildings, which had almost 
fallen to ruin, were repaired, a seminary of Irish priests 
established, and to it was united the Seminary of Irish 
Clerics of the Faubourg St. Germain. The two commu- 
nities remained in the same building for one hundred 
years, but in 1776, the members of the establishment in- 
creasing to one hundred and sixty, of whom one hun- 
dred were priests, the Superior, Father Kelly, pur- 
chased for the accommodation of the Irish Clerics a new 
site, and erected the college at present occupied by the 
Irish students — Rue des Irlandais. Both colleges were 
suppressed at the Revolution. The Seminary of Irish 
Clerics was restored under the Consulate, and obtained 
possession by the decrees of 1801, 1802, 1803, and 1805, 
of the suppressed English aud Scotch Colleges and of 
the College of the Lombards. 

The English Seminary, Rue des Postes, was founded 
during the persecution of Cromwell, and recognized as 
a secular community by letters patent of Louis XIV. In 
1685 the college was placed under the direction of the 
Irish Seminary. It was suppressed in 1792, and its 



136 



buildings are at present occupied by private families 
and by the Seminary of St. Esprit. 

The College of the Lombards had the honor of a visit 
from the illustrious Edmund Burke in 1775. In his fa- 
mous letter to a Peer of Ii'eland, February 21st, 1782, he 
thus alludes to that college : "It seemed to me a very 
good place of education, under excellent orders and 
regulations, and under the government of a very pru- 
dent and learned man, the late Dr. Kelly. This college 
was possessed of an annual income of more than a thou- 
sand pounds a year, the greatest part of which had 
arisen from legacies and benefactions of persons educa- 
ted at that college and who had obtained promotions in 
France, from the emoluments of which promotions they 
made this grateful return ; one in particular, I remem- 
ber, to the amount of ten thousand livres annually, as it 
is recorded on the doner's monument in the chapel." 

Tradition says that the chapel mentioned in Burke's 
letter was one of the last, if not the very last place 
where Mass continued to be said after the abolition of 
Catholic worshij) by the infidels in 1793. We are in- 
formed by the able editor of Renehan's " Collections on 
Irish Church History " that when he visited it in 1840 it 
was used as a storehouse. 

The Abbe McGeoghgan, writing about the Irish stu- 
dents on the Continent, thus speaks of the foundation 
of their College at Paris : " France generously afforded 
an asylum to these voluntary exiles, and gave them a 
house on the hill of St. Genevieve. They were kindly 
received by the people of Paris, w^ho in this imitated their 



137 



illustrious fellow-citizen, Baron de St. Just, and Presi- 
dent of their Parliament. This virtuous nobleman and 
true Christian was deeply affected by the state of reli- 
gion in Ireland, and much interested for the fate of the 
Irish priests who Avere banished from their country on 
account of their religion. These were looked upon as 
martys for Christ and laborers destined to cultivate his 
doctrine. They were brought by this illustrious 
Frenchman from an obscure dwelling, and settled in a 
more commodious place, while he was providing a regu- 
lar seminary and funds necessary for its support. Ee- 
tirement was a favorite virtue of this pious and good 
man. Every day that could be spared from public 
business he passed with the Irish exiles. Devotion to 
God and his saints, the conversion of heretics, the prop- 
agation of the faith and the salvation of souls, were 
always favorite subjects of conversation between him 
and the novices. He was frequently with them in the 
refectory, where his humility was such that, forgetful of 
his rank as first magistrate of France, and as a proof of 
his respect for the exiled clergymen, he always chose 
the last place at table. According as they had completed 
their studies, and were prepared to return to their coun- 
try, their illustrious patron had them examined by Pere 
Binet, a learned Jesuit of the time; he then himself pre- 
sented them to Cardinal Eetz, Bishop of Paris, to receive 
their mission from him, after which they were furnished 
with clothes and everything necessary for the voyage at 
his expense." 

It may interest our readers to know that Cardinal 



138 



Ketz, wlio was accustomed to give the Irish priests 
their mission, had received a part of his education from 
St. Vincent de Paul. 

Father Binet, S. J., the examiner of the Irish stu- 
dents, was born at Dijohn. He wrote the "Lives of 
the Saints " and an Essay on " The Wonders of Na- 
ture." This last work was highly esteemed by the 
learned. 

What a writer in the Irish Ecclesiastical Record for 
November, 1870, says of the present Irish College at 
Paris, can be truthfully said of the old College of the 
Penal Days : "It is manifest that no foreign institu- 
tion could be less French on French soil than is 
the Irish College, nor could it be more Irish. Even 
though words should be silent on the subject, the 
College itself proclaims the fact. Let any one ap- 
proach it by the street ' Rue des Irlandais,' in which it 
is situated, and, entering the building, let him inspect 
the national emblems of Ireland, the Irish cross, the 
Irish harp, the Irish round towers, the Irish wolf-dog, 
the titles of the Irish dioceses, the statues and pic- 
tures of titular saints of Ireland, the Irish mottoes, 
etc., etc., and then let him mingle with the profes- 
sors and students, who are exclusively Irish — if the 
visitor be an Irishman, he forgets for the moment that 
he is in France, and feels as he were at home in old 
Ireland; or, if he be a Frenchman, he feels as if he 
had gone out of his native land and as if treading 
upon foreign soil. So little is the Irish College a 



139 



French establishment— so completely is it, and has it 
always been an Irish Institution." 

Not to mention ihe rash Scotus Erigena, many Irish 
students distinguished themselves at Paris. Thomas 
Palmer, usually styled Thomas Hibernicus, a native of 
Kildare, and who flourished about the year 1229, wa& 
a Fellow of the Sorbonne, and was famous as an 
author and as a professor of that University. The 
celebrated John Duns Scotus was a Doctor of the Sor- 
bonne; and it was while delivering his pulic lectures, 
at Paris that he defended the dogma of the Immaculate 
Conception. Thomas Messingham, for some time Rec- 
tor of the Irish College at Paris, was a native of Leins- 
ter. He was a writer of great authority on Irish sub- 
jects. More distinguished still than Messingham was 
a youth who often played in Bridge street, Dublin. 
This was Michael Moore, who did much for the ad- 
vancement of Irish literature. Before leaving his native 
city Moore had received a good classical education. 
When he grew towards manhood he repaired to France 
and commenced his ecclesiastical course in the Irish 
College at Nantes. After having spent some years in 
this College he removed to Paris, and there completed 
his theological studies. Moore was an accurate and pro- 
found Greek scholar. On this account he was appoint- 
ed Professor of Rhetoric in the Grassan College, which 
office he filled with marked ability. On account of ill- 
health he was obliged to return to Ireland, and was 
there ordained priest by the learned Luke Wadding, 
Bishop of Ferns. He soon became Prebendary of 



140 



Tymothan and Vicar-General of Dublin. Ha^ving re- 
turned to Paris lie was caressed by the learned, and 
won tbe patronage and friendship of Cardinal Noailles. 
This great Cardinal is represented by French writers as 
one who loved Avhat was good, and did it. He was ami- 
able in his manner, agreeable in society, full of candor, 
and brilliant in conversation. By his influence our Irish 
student was nominated Professor of Philosophy Greek, 
and Hebrew, and became soon after President of the 
College of Navarre and Rector of the University of 
Paris. When King James II. was in Ireland, Tyrconnell 
recommended Moore to him. He preached often before 
the monarch, and for a time was high in his favor. 
Pope Innocent XII. was so well pleased with his gov- 
ernment of the College at Montefiascone that he made 
a donation of two thousand crowns a year to that 
Sveminary. Clement XI. so much esteemed Moore that 
he declared in the presence of several Cardinals, that he 
would place his nephew under his tuition. Moore's 
heart was always in Ireland. His interest in her wel- 
fare never diminished. He took a special care of Irish 
students who wished to study for the Irish mission. 
"With the assistance of Doctor John Farelly, he pur- 
chased a house near the Irish College for them. Some 
years before his death he had the misfortune to lose his 
eyesight, and was obliged to employ a person for the pur- 
pose of reading to him. This wretch, however, proved 
to be heartless and dishonest, and pillaged some hun- 
reds of the Doctor's books. The volumes that remained 
were bequeathed to the Irish College, for the benefit of 



141 



his countrymen. Doctor Moore died in the College of 
Navarre, on the 22d of August, 1726, and was interred 
in the chapel of the Irish College. Doctor Moore was 
distinguished, not only as a professor, but likewise as an 
author. He left several learned works behind him. 

While Dr. Moore was at the summit of fame in Paris, 
another Irish student shone in the halls of that city's 
university. This student was Cornelius Nary, from the. 
county of Kildare. Young Nary received an early clas- 
sical education at Naas. He was ordained in his twenty- 
fourth year, by Dr. James Phelan, Bishop of Ossory, and 
proceeded to Paris. He became an alumnus of the Irish 
College. After some time he was appointed provisor of 
the same establishment, the duties of which office he 
continued to discharge for seven years. "His trans- 
cendent talents, enhanced by unremitted application, 
soon opened the way for further literary honors ; in 
1694 he acquired superior distinction as a canonist, and 
took out a degree of Doctor of Laws in the University 
of Paris. "With a view of contributing assistance to the 
exigencies of the Irish mission, he resolved to return to 
his native country, but when he reached London he was 
prevailed upon by his friends to remain for some time 
in that city, and became domestic chaplain to the Earl 
of Antrim. Notwithstanding the discouraging state of 
Ireland at this period, the love which he cherished for 
the religion of his native land, and his anxiety to co- 
operate with his fellow-countrymen, would not permit 
him to prolong his stay in London; he soon after pro- 
ceeded to Dublin, and was appointed parish priest of 



142 



St. Michan's in that city. The reputation of Doctor 
Nary was soon universally established ; he ranked as the 
leading and most successful controvertist of the day; 
by his writings as well as by his discourses he con- 
tributed to the triumph of truth and to the conversion 
of numbers. During the registration of 1704, Doctor 
Nary clung with the affection of a father to his flock; he 
was one of the 1,080 priests who submitted to the pro- 
cess of that penal ordeal, his sureties on that occasion 
being Nicholas Lincoln in Capel street, and John But- 
ler, of Ormond-quay. This learned and truly valuable 
pastor continued unmolested in the government of his 
parish until his death, which occurred on the 3d of 
March, 1738." Doctor Nary was a prolific and able 
writer. He wrote books of devotion on several subjects, 
as well as historical and controversial works. 

Another distinguished Irish student who won laurels 
at Paris was Malachy O'Queely. " There is little to be 
said of O'Queely's literary tastes or labors,'' says Father 
JMeehan, " but we may state that they were appreciated 
by John Colgan, who was indebted to him for the ' De- 
scription of the three Islands of Arran and their 
•churches.'" Geoff ry Keating, the Irish historian, was 
also a Paris student. He was a man of marked abilities. 
He wrote on various subjects. His "Defence of the 
Mass," and the " Three Shafts of Death," were written 
in Gaelic. He was the author of some short poems, one 
of which was an eulogy on the death of Lord Decies. 
*'Dr. Keating," says an unknown author, "was a fine 



143 



preacher, and in such high repute, that peoj^le flocked 
from all parts to hear him." 

Besides the Irish students of Paris already spoken of 
^Ye may mention the honored names of the two great 
historians, Sylvester O'Halloran and John Megeoghe- 
gan, the illustrious physician, Neil O'Glacan, and Dr. 
William Coppinger, the ascetic writer. 

The present century saw several distinguished natives 
of Ireland in the Irish College at Paris. Among them 
'we may name Dr. O'Higgins, subsequently Bishop of 
Ardagh, who was one of its professors; Archdeacon 
Hamilton of Dublin; Dean Gaffney, of Maynooth; Dr. 
Kirby,* made by our present glorious Pontiff Bishop of 
Lita, and the famous and patriotic Edward Maginn, Bi- 
shop of Derry. 

Dr. Maginn seems to have known well the history of 
his Alma Mater. In his letter to Lord Stanley he asks : 
" Who, mj lord, was amongst the first to welcome the 
royal refugee to the shores of France? An Irish friar, 
my own name-sake, afterwards chaplain to the queen- 
mother, Henrietta. The hard earnings of a long life, 
■which he kept by him for the pious purpose of educat- 
ing for the holy ministry his proscribed race at home, 
on bended knees, with the generous devotion of an Irish 
heart, he poured into the lap of poor exiled royalty. So 
much, my lord, for an Irish, denouncing, confessing, se- 
cret-keeping Christian friar. The same was afterwards 
the founder of the Irish College of the Lombards, which 



* Now Archbishop of Ephesus. 



144 



supplied Ireland for centuries with priests and martyrs, 
who kept the faith, and mark you, my lord, royalty 
alive, in spite of the united efforts of the powers of 
darkness and of your own non-confessing Christians to 
extinguish both." 

The following passage from the eloquent pen of 
Thomas D'Arcy McGee is highly pertinent to our j)res- 
ent subject. " Of the faculty of the Irish College at 
Paris," he writes, " were the Abbe Kearney, who, with 
the better known Abbe Edgeworth, had escorted Louis 
XYI. to the scaffold, and whose reminiscences of the 
first revolution, when he chose to indulge them, are pro- 
nounced by a recent writer to have been ample and in- 
teresting. 

" The Irish College at Paris possesses many claims to 
the affectionate remembrance and respect of all Irish- 
men. Originally founded with the sanction of the ex- 
iled Stuarts, under tlie auspices of the Bourbons, it was 
necessarily a very loyal and legitimist institution. It 
possessed, from the accident of its location, a patriotic 
as well as a royalist influence. Every Irish soldier in 
the service of France some time or other came to see its 
inmates; every Irish tourist, especially if a Catholic and 
a patriot, was desirous of being introduced to its fac- 
ulty. In its library were deposited some valuable relics 
of our Celtic literature, carried abroad in the Jacobite 
exodus, and destined to be resorted to after many days, 
by such zealous students as the Abbe McGeoghegan, 
and the Chevalier O'Gorman. In 1792 it shared the fate 
of all the ecclesiastical institutions of France — was con- 



145 



fiscated and closed; with the consent of the Consuls it 
was re-opened as a secular academy, having the Abbe 
McDermott for principal, and Eugene Beauharnais and 
Jerome Bounaparte among its scholars. The studies 
were wholly unlike those designed for its original in- 
mates by the original founders. The practice of relig- 
ion had not yet been tolerated ! Voltaire and Eosseau 
were more read than sacred history. On the restoration 
of the Bourbons this school was fully restored, and has 
ever since remained sacred to theological studies. Its 
importance in that respect, to the insulted Church it re- 
cruited and sustained in the worst of times, can hardly 
be exaggerated.'* 



146 
MEMOKIES OF THE CONTINENT. 



God bless those pictured college-walls, 

We loved upon the Continent ; 
God bless those glorious college-halls, 

We loved upon the Continent ; 
God bless our friends of France and Spain, 
God bless old Eome, God bless Louvain, 
God bless each gifted heart and brain. 
We found upon the Continent. 

How peaceful passed our college-days, 

Upon the grand, old Continent ; 
How sweetly rose our vesper lays. 

Upon the noble Continent ; 
How dear to us each blushing vine. 
From Tiber to the kingly Khine, — 
How dear to us each sacred shrine 
Upon the good, old Continent. 



147 



THE PASTOEAL COLLEGE, LOUVAIN. 



As the precise spot on which the Irish Pastoral Col- 
lege stood should be dear to each Celtic heart, I took 
particular care, while in Louvain, to find it out. At the 
present moment there is a hospital for orphans, " L'Hos- 
pice des Orphelins," in the street called "Rue des Or- 
phelins." The ancient Jesuit College stood on the 
ground now occupied by this Hospital. On its left, 
and adjoining it, was the Pastoral College. The 
large archway, or entrance, with " Collegium Hiberno- 
rum " over it, has long since disappeared. 

Li 1773 a masonic lodge was formed at Louvain. 
This lodge was transferred to the L'ish Pastoral College 
in 1806. The Freemasons held their first banquet at 
Louvain in the dear chapel of the Pastoral College. It 
was in 1835 that the venerated "Collegium Hiberno- 
rum " was changed into private houses. 

But we must give the early history of the College. 
During the seventeenth century the Irish Catholics had 
no means of educating their sons at home. Barbaric 
laws forbade them the rights of education. The Catho- 
lic schoolmaster was considered a most dangerous ene- 
my to the state. " Amidst the political and religious 
troubles," says a writer in the Dublin Review, " which 
succeeded the expulsion and outlawry of the parochial 



148 



clergy, and monastic orders, we can catch, but at inter- 
vals, and from scattered spots, the fitful glimmerings of 
the torch of Catholic science, now escaping through 
chinks of caverned rocks and other hiding places, where 
aged priests and friars, unable or unwilling to flee, lin- 
gered about to teach the poor persecuted children of 
the land; and at another time gleaming dimly, like ex- 
piring beacon-lights on the sea-coast, when learning, 
banished from all its accustomed haunts, was forced to 
take its mournful departure from the shores on which, 
in days of old, it had welcomed the strangers who had 
come in quest of knowledge, from every clime, to the 
schools of Lismore, Armagh, Cloonard, Ross, Clonfert, 
and Bangor. Now the Irishman is to be the exile and 
wanderer, m quest of learning denied him at home, and 
every Christian land, save tjiat which was nearest, re- 
turns the rights of hospitality; and every university, 
college, school and convent abroad, emulously contend- 
ing for the honor of enrolling the poor, homeless Irish 
student amongst its doctors, scholars, or brethren, 
throws open wide its gates, and compels him, with gen- 
erous violence, to enter, and throw aside his pilgrim's 
staff, and rest his weary feet, and abide in peace, as in 
more ancient times strangers were wont to find a home 
in the schools and cloisters of his fatherland. Spain, 
France, Italy, Portugal, Belgium — may it never be for- 
gotten how each of your people succored Irish genius 
in the hour of its need and sheltered it when harborless, 
and slaked its thirst for knowledge at the fountains 



149 



of living waters, and broke to it the bread of every 
science." 

About the year 1622 Eugene Matthews, Archbishop of 
Dublin, being obliged to fly from his country, or die the 
death of a traitor, knowing what his countrymen were 
suffering on account of their devotion and Faith, repre- 
sented the case to Urban VIII., and pressed upon the 
sacred college the necessity of providing a seminary, 
with a view of preparing missionaries for the Church in 
Ireland. The Cardinals at once entered into his views, 
and accordingly it was settled that a college should be 
founded in Louvain; and by the Pope's bull of the 14th 
of December, 1624, the preliminaries were all arranged, 
Urban himself having endowed it with a considerable 
grant, a house was purchased, and the College was 
opened ; the course of study was rhetoric, philosophy 
and theology. The college was at first supported by 
the generosity of the congregation of the Propaganda. 
Archbishop Matthews himself established a bourse for 
the benefit of students from his diocese. The good ac- 
complished by the learned and zealous priests sent to 
Ireland from this college was great and lasting. The 
persecuted Irish people found in them fathers, conso- 
lers, fortifiers and spiritual directors. "Who can picture 
the joy of the poor peasants and plundered nobles, when 
they saw amongst them devoted fathers who had gone 
to distant countries to prepare themselves in order to 
be able to labor for the hunted, reviled, down-trodden 
children of St. Patrick. 

It is not difiicult for one who has spent any length of 



150 



time in a University-town to see the utility and high 
importance of such a college as the Irish Pastoral Col- 
lege. The dangers to which youths were exposed, who, 
being free to choose their own abodes, in the midst of 
luxury and worldliness, were not few nor trifling. It is 
not easy to gather into one city thousands of young 
men, students of law and medicine, as well as students 
of divinity and aspirants after University honors, with- 
out having, at least, a few of them without good morals 
or good manners. Hence the danger of bad company 
and of bad example to the young and innocent. 

The students of monastic orders who attended at the 
courses given in the great universities were removed 
from a thousand dangers to which other students were 
exposed. Though far away from their own province or 
country, still they found themselves at home under rule 
and discipline in one of their conventual houses. The 
Irish Dominican who attended at the University of 
Paris went to his daily class from a French Dominican 
convent; the Irish Franciscan in Louvain or Rome, 
dwelt amidst his Flemish or Italian brethren. " Not so 
in those early days of the universities was the condition 
of the secular clerk, whether lay or ecclesiastical. Then 
there were no colleges except those possessed by the 
regular clergy in their convents, which suggested the 
expediency and the plan of erecting similar collegiate 
homes for secular students. Inns and hospices and hos- 
tels abounded in all the streets and alleys, where youths 
of gentle blood and varlets of low degree congregated 
for brawls and carousals, and the peace of the com- 



151 



munity was disturbed by frequent day outbreaks and 
midnight feuds, between turbulent academicians and 
officious bailiffs and sturdy burghers; and serious issues 
therefrom arose between the authorities of the universi- 
ties and the magistrates of the cities for violated privi- 
leges on the one hand, and municipal order broken and 
public officers maltreated on the other." 

Again there was another reason for the existence of 
the Pastoral College. The students there were to pre- 
pare themselves for a hard and arduous mission — the 
Irish mission. They were to prepare themselves for all 
kinds of trials and sufferings. 

" The duties of the Irish priest," says the Dublin Re- 
view for May, 1862, "who had forced the lines were dif- 
ferent, as we before had occasion to remark, from those 
of the English missioner, but they were identical in this 
respect, that they were performed in secret, and that in 
many instances all the heroism of their performances is 
lost to history. The course of the Irish priest or Bishop 
from Louvain or Paris to Ireland, and thence to the 
Birmingham Tower or the Tower of London, although 
not marked in log or journal, may be tracked without 
any effort of imagination, and yet with sufficient cer- 
tainty. Having escaped the English cruisers and the 
still more alert and dangerous spies who swarmed in the 
foreign and Irish ports, he reached his diocese under 
favor of a secret understanding and difficult corres- 
pondence with friends too numerous for perfect safety 
or discretion, through a country beset with enemies, 
vigilant, blood-thirsty and keen-scented. Being at 



152 



length at home, his labors, his dangers and his unrest 
seemed only to begin. A new lodging every night, a 
new disguise every day, a new congregation every Sun- 
day ; high treason to be committed in every cabin by 
absolving the sinner or anointing the sick ; a correspon- 
dence to be kept up with Rome, with Spain, with the 
Irish colleges everywhere upon the Continent ; relations 
to be preserved with influential Catholics at home dif- 
fering in judgment, in feeling and in interests ; provis- 
ion to be made for succession in the ministry; a learned 
controversy, perhaps, to be maintained with clever dis- 
putants at a distance from books of reference and other 
appliances of study, and all this without other resources 
at his command than the alms of a poverty-stricken 
people, and with hourly chances of capture and its in- 
evitable consequences : such were the duties well un- 
derstood, coolly undertaken and resolutely performed 
by the Bishop who could set foot in Ireland. In the 
great majority of cases, the historical detail of much 
that we know to have taken place are, for the present, 
wanting ; and we can learn nothing more of many great 
and laborious Bishops or priests than that they reached 
Ireland, lived there for a time, and died. But there can 
be no doubt, from what we know of others concerning 
whom something is preserved to us, and from the con- 
dition of the times, that the life of every Irish priest 
and Bishop worthy of the name must have been some- 
thing very nearly resembling what has been described." 
Among the early Bectors of the Irish Pastoral College 
may be mentioned Edmond O'Beilly, Archbishop of Ar- 



153 



magh. This patriotic and pious prelate was born in the 
year 1606, and after having made some studies in Ire- 
land, was sent to Louvain by Dr. Fleming, where he 
studied Sacred Scriptures and Moral Divinity under 
the Jesuits, and Canon Law under the Franciscans. 
It is very probable that O'Reilly had the good fortune 
to attend the lectures on the Sacred Scriptures given 
by the celebrated Jesuit commentator, Cornelius a La- 
pide, who taught at Louvain about his time. Corneille 
Comelissen Yan Den Steen (a Lapide) was born in 
1566, and having become a Jesuit, devoted himself to 
the study of languages, to literature, and especially to 
the understanding of the Sacred Scriptures. After 
having explained the Scriptures with great success at 
Louvain and Eome, he died at the last-named city, 
full of renown for his learning and virtues, aged 
seventy-one years. "Whether O'Reilly had so distin- 
guished a professor, or not, among the Jesuits, we are 
certain that he had a renowned professor among the 
Franciscans — "the Honorable and Rev. Thomas Flem- 
ing (the eldest son and heir of Lord Slane), who, re- 
nouncing the pleasures of earth, had exchanged the 
titles and estates of this world for the cloister here 
and the ' hundred-fold hereafter,' and was now Pro- 
fessor of Divinity in Franciscan College of St. Anthony 
of Padua, at Louvain." 

O'Reilly, by his piety and other good qualities, won 
the esteem of his professor. Father Fleming. "When 
about to return to Ireland, this latter priest wrote to 
his uncle, the Archbishop of Dublin, commending him 



154 



most highly. The life that O'Keilly led in Ireland 
was hard and perilous, but always great and glorious. 
He suffered many tribulations and persecutions, and 
was banished several times from his native land. He 
was the steadfast friend of the famous Owen Roe 
O'Neill, and of the Papal Nuncio, Rinuccini. It was 
while Dr. O'Reilly was in exile, at the Irish Col- 
lege of Lisle, in Flanders, that he received notice 
that the Pope, in approbation of his virtues and con- 
stancy, had appointed him to the Primatial See of 
Armagh. 

"Dr. O'Reilly," says Renehan, "was not *a reed 
shaken by the wind,' he was not a man clothed in ' soft 
garments,' nor versed in that finesse and pliancy which 
prevail in the ' palaces of kings ; ' he knew not how 
to temporize, but he knew how to contend and ' suffer 
for justice' sake.' " 

The last days of O'Reilly were spent in exile, and, 
like many another Irish Bishop, he sank to rest far 
from the land that gave him birth. 

" On the 27th of September, 1666, he was sent off to 
London, under the custody of the City Mayor, Stanly, 
and thence was sent, without trial or accusation, to 
Dover, whence he took shipping for Calais." 

Do not the white cliffs of Dover grow more interest- 
ing to us when we recall the host of " O'Reillys " who, 
as they sailed into eternal exile, saw for the last time 
that stainless portion of the land once ruled by Alfred 
and Edward ? "While mindful of O'Reilly's fate, we can 



155 



appreciate, with a peculiar appreciation, Matthew Ar~ 
nold's poem on Dover Beach: 

' ' The sea is calm to-night, 
The tide is full, the moon lies fair 
Upon the straits ; on the French coast the light 
Gleams and is gone ; the cliffs of England stand, 
Glimmering and vast, out on the tranquil bay. 
******* 

Listen, you hear the grating roar 

Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling 

At their return up the high strand, 

Begin, and cease, and then again begin, 

With tremulous cadence slow, and bring 

The eternal note of sadness in." 

And the "Calais Sands," do they not grow dear to 
us, and seem like precious relics in our eyes, when we 
remember the pilgrim bands from Ireland that walked 
up and down the French shores in the days gone by ? 

"A thousand knights have rein'd their steeds 

To watch this line of sand-hills rnn 
Along the never- silent strait 

To Calais, glittering in the sun." 

Ah! more than a thousand Irish lords and ladies 
fair — ah ! more than a thousand Irish chiefs and sol- 
diers, priests and students, turned their gaze with rap- 
ture, mingled, indeed, with sorrow, towards the friendly 
forts of " Calais glittering in the sun." 

O'Reilly being "banished forever from his diocese 



156 



and his country, studied how he might best provide 
for the interests of religion and the s^Diritual instruc- 
tion of his people. His first care was to revisit the 
Irish Colleges in Belgium. He passed, therefore, from 
Calais to Louvain, and thence to the other seminaries ; 
and in the beginning of 1667 reached Brussels, where 
he ordained several priests for the Irish mission. It 
was in the Jesuit chapel of Brussels that he himself, 
with the utmost secrecy was consecrated Bishop. From 
Brussels he came to Paris, in the summer of 1667, and 
making that city his principal place of residence, he 
occasionally journeyed, at a very advanced age, to the 
different Irish seminaries through the country. In 
these he exhorted and instructed the young candidates 
for the ministry, and held several ordinations, the last 
of which I find any mention took place at Paris, in 
January, 1669. It was probably the excessive fatigue 
of one of these visits of pastoral zeal that abridged the 
term of his pilgrimage here, and hastened the reward 
of his manifold virtues. The expatriated confessor was 
seized with his last sickness at Saumur, in France, on 
the Loire, and there, with great sentiments of piety, 
he resigned his heroic soul into the hands of its Crea- 
tor, about the spring of the year 1669." 

We wonder if O'Beilly found a resting-place in the 
chapel of the ancient royal college of Saumur? An- 
other distinguished rector of the Pastoral College was 
Thomas Stapleton, he who had the sad privilege of de- 
livering the funeral oration of Nicholas French, Bishop 
of Ferns. This great scholar was on several occasions 



157 



elected to the highest academical honors that could be 
conferred upon any university student, namely, " Rec- 
teur Magnifique." He was born in the little town of 
Fethard, in Tipperary, and was consequently a fellow- 
townsman of the famous John Baptist Hacket, a Do- 
minican, the author of several books, and an esteemed 
professor of theology at Milan, Naples and Rome. Dr. 
Stapleton was the grandson of Thomas, Lord of 
Thurlesbeg, Knokane, Nenagh and Karrighine. His 
mother was one of the Meaghers of Barnane. Dr. 
Stapleton enjoyed the esteem and friendship of some 
of the greatest men of their time. Having departed 
this life, August 14, 1694, at the Pastoral College, he 
was laid to rest in the Chapel of St. Charles Borromeo, 
in St. Peter's Collegiate Church, Louvain. Dr. Staple- 
ton is numbered among the great benefactors of the 
Pastoral College. 

Nicholas French, Bishop of Ferns, a native of "Wex- 
ford, was one of the chief benefactors and glories of 
the Pastoral College. The life and writings of this 
great and j)atriotic Prelate are the national property 
of Ireland. It is not necessary for me to give a de- 
tailed account of his varied and brilliant career from 
the time he left the shores of Ireland until he expired 
at Ghent. McGee grows more eloquent than usual 
the moment he begins to touch upon the character of 
this giant among Irish students. "Wolsey, Ximenes, 
Richelieu," he exclaims, " there was a church man 
born to be a fourth among you, a man of iron will and 
lofty genius, who planned and well nigh achieved 



158 



things as great as any you have attempted or effected. 
He, too, was a boy-bachelor, could have rivalled in 
learning the Polygiott of the Spanish cardinal, and in 
the magnitude of his political views was scarce inferior 
to the great cardinal statesman of France. He was 
banished into a strange land, and the tide of oblivion, 
which has swept away so many minor names and his- 
tories of the Catholic Confederacy, at reaching its flood 
almost hid his form from our eyes. But he held his 
ground firmly on the confines of Fame, like that rude 
Colossus on the Antrim shore, told of by tourists, 
which is supposed to be a giant of old, petrified in the 
act of stepping on Irish soil. The waves and the winds 
of heaven have beaten upon it ; little men have climbed 
to its summit, to pluck the lank, green grass, which 
falls like discolored hair over its granite brows ; they 
have broken and carried away fragments of its base, 
still it keeps its post, rising just above the tide-mark, 
broad and brave-looking as a tower of strength. 

"The life of French is so filled with incident, with 
scenes so constantly shifting, that it is no easy matter 
to form an accurate judgment upon it. He had been 
an Ambassador to four different courts. He had ruled 
with episcopal power in four different countries. As a 
public man and an ecclesiastic there can be no doubt of 
his powers, his address, the extent of his accomplish- 
ments, nor of the greatness of his labors. He was the 
leader of all work to the Catholic Confederacy. He was 
one of the best known Christian bishops of his age. 

As an author, it was no unformidable degree of sue- 



159 



cess which could call Clarendon against him to the lists. 
At a time when Europe was occupied with the greatest 
affairs, when the most remarkable men that a single 
generation ever saw were all actively operating upon its 
theatres of peace or war, he forced by the strength and 
sincerity of his writings, this Island and its fortunes on 
the general attention." 

Harris tells us "that all along during the Rebellion 
French was a violent enemy to the king's authority." 



160 



THERE IS HOPE FOE ERIN. 



There is hope for Erin, 
While in ten thousand cells, 
Where devotion ever dwells, 
The meek-faced nuns are telling, 
While their hearts vdth love are swelling, 
Ten thousand rosaries for Erin. 

There is hope for Erin, 
While monk and saintly priest 
Offer up the Sacred Feast, 
With tears and nightly sighing. 
For an Isle in sorrow lying, 
An isle whose music-name is Erin. 

There is hope for Erin : 
Her sons, to virtue true, 
By their holy actions sue 
From God the choicest blessing. 
From the Sacred Heart caressing 
For the Sacred Heart's own isle, Erin, 

There is hope for Erin : 
While angel-censers wave. 
While her saints for mercy crave, 
While Virgin-Mother's pleading 
Can move the Victim bleeding 
On thy altar's sacred stone, Erin. 



161 



PONT-A-MOUSSON, LOEEAINE. 



Pont-a-Mousson, in Lorraine, in olden times, was not 
without beauty. Its venerable religious bouses, and es- 
pecially its magnificent Premonstratensian Church and 
library, would be ornaments to any city in Europe. The 
Moselle, which is spanned by a fine old bridge, divides 
the town into two parts. 

In the year 1573, Cardinal De Lorraine established at 
Pont-a-Mousson a University* modelled after the best 
schools of the period. The first Chancellor of this Uni- 
versity was an Irish Jesuit, Father Eichard Fleming. 
Father Fleming was a native of Westmeath, of a noble 
family. He was a distinguished writer, and a man of 
great virtue, and of "a religious bearing." "Of him," 
says Stanihurst, "I hear a great report, to be an abso- 
lute Divine and Professor thereof." Father Fleming 
was so highly esteemed for his learning that he was ap- 
pointed to succeed the celebrated Maldonatus, in the 
Chair of Theology at Paris. He died at Pont-a-Mousson, 
On the 25th of August, 1590. His death, says Father 
Carayon, threw a gloom over the whole College. 

Another Irish Jesuit, whose name is connected with 
Pont-a-Mousson, where he made part of his studies, is 



* This University was transferred to Nancy on tlie Sd of August, 17( 



162 



Florence More, of Armagh. This Father was particular- 
ly beloved by Primate Creagli, and was highly thought 
of as a Spiritual Director. He was born in 1552, and 
died at Neuhaus College, in Germany, 1616. 

While John Barclay, a prose-writer and poet of some 
renown, was a pupil of the Jesuit College at Pont-a- 
Mousson, Christopher Hollywood from Artane, in the 
County Dublin, studied with him. Great success at- 
tended young Hollywood in his studies. He was admir- 
ed not only by his Jesuit masters, but also by the dis- 
tinguished professors of the university. Having com- 
pleted his course of study at Pont-a-Mousson, he removed 
to Padua, where for years, he delivered lectures on dog- 
matical theology. This great Jesuit became a Confessor 
for the Faith, having been cast into a prison while pass- 
ing through England on his way to his Irish mission. 
Hollywood was powerful with the voice and pen. His 
jDreaching and writings were so disagreeable to the fan- 
.-atical James I. that that monarch denounced him by 
name. The works of Father Hollywood were published 
at Antwerp in 1604. After presiding with great ability 
for twelve years over the Societ}" in Ireland, he died in 
1626. 

Another illustrious Irish student was at Pont-a-Mous- 
son about Barclay's time. This was Father Stephen 
White, whom Victor De Buck styles a "very remarkable 
man." Father White was born at Clonmel, on the pleas- 
ant banks of the Suir, Spenser's favorite river. His birth 
took place about the jeav 1570. After finishing a brilli- 
ant course of studies White was appointed professor of 



163 



philosophy at the Irish college of Salamanca. So great 
was his success in teaching and lecturing that he was 
soon called to Ingoldstadt, in Bavaria. A famous uni- 
versity had been founded at Ingoldstadt in 1471. Fa- 
ther White was appointed professor of dogmatic theolo- 
gy in this renowned school. After teaching for years 
with unbounded applause at Ingoldstadt, the great 
Clonmel student became a professor of the University 
of Dillingen. The Dillingen University was established 
in 1549, by the illustrious Cardinal Othon Truchses. 
After leaving Dillingen, White next appears as a pro- 
fessor at Pont-a-Mousson, at the College of the Jesuits. 
In the years 1627 and 1628 we find Father White in a 
residence of his Order in Metz, the birth-place of Sebas- 
tian Le Clerc and the distinguished Jesuit, Father John 
Francis Baltus. White returned to Ireland in 1640, and 
proceeded to Dublin, where he expired in 1662. 

White was distinguished not only as a professor of 
philosophy and theology, but also as an archaeologist. 
He was in continual communication with Father John 
Colgan, of Louvain. We may be certain that the fa- 
mous Franciscan hagiologist received many a useful 
piece of information from the learned Irish Jesuit, who, 
in his studies and travels, must have found treasures of 
Irish history. 

The Irish Fathers at the Jesuit College of Pont-a- 
Mousson were often visited by a brilliant young univer- 
sity student. The youth was noble in appearance, and 
frank and generous in character. This was nothing to 
be wondered at, for his name was Emer McMahon, a 



164 



worthy scion of the princely house of Farney. McMahon 
after studying with distinction at Pont-a-Musson, and 
having been ordained priest, was honored with the doc- 
torate in civil and canon law. After some years as mis- 
sionary in Ireland Emer was created Bishop of Clogher, 
which See he afterwards exchanged for the perilous See 
of Dublin. After many trials and labors in Ireland, 
Bishop McMahon removed to Eome, where he died of a 
fever, on the 24th of August, 1622, about two years be- 
fore the demise of the great Peter Lombard. 

About the year 1754 a young man from Kells, in the 
county of royal Meath, entered a French novitiate of 
the Society of Jesus. Having proved himself not only 
a brilliant student but also a deep and solid scholar, 
Thomas Betagh was chosen by his superiors to teach at 
the public schools attached to the Jesuit College at 
Pont-a-Mousson. Here he distinguished himself as a 
professor. His mind was clear and acute and his lan- 
guage rich, yet precise and simple. There was nothing- 
cloudy about his explanations ; even the dullest of his 
pupils could immediately catch his meaning. About 
the year 1762 Doctor Betagh returned to his native 
country and devoted himself to the glorious cause of 
education. For years he taught hundreds of the Dub- 
lin youth in School-house lane and Skinner-row. Fa- 
ther Betagh was not like the Reformers who believed in 
faith without good works. He well knew that charity 
covers a multitude of sins, and so he was accustomed 
anually to clothe out of his scanty resources at least 
forty of his most destitude pupils. As a moralist Betagh 



165 



ruled an audience at will ; as a champion of Catholic 
doctrine he might well be ranked with the most illus- 
trious men of his Order. "After a most successful mis- 
sion of upwards of forty years Doctor Betagh died on 
the 16th of February, 1811. On the announcement of 
his death, the metropolis was turned into one general 
scene of mourning, and at this day his name and his 
virtues remain embalmed in the recollections of a grate- 
ful people." 

flis preaching much, bnt more his practice wrought — 
A liying sermon on the truth he taught. 



166 
THE ISLE OF THE LIYING. 



(It was believed tliat no one could die while on the island in Loch Cre.) 



I sailed around the blue Loch Cre, 
And watched the Isle that ever blooms ; 
The sun was mild, and soft each ray 
Fell o'er the Isle that knew no tombs. 



II. 



The hymns of monks stirred all the air, 
The soul of flowers rose to the sky, 
I heard the plaintive voice of prayer ; — 
** Grant, Master, grant, that we may die. 



III. 



"This Isle is rich in fruits and flowers, 
One Summer here forever reigns, 
Peace smiles upon our quick- winged hours. 
Our joys are great, and rare our pains. 



IV. 



' ' But still of earth we tired have grown, 
We long to be with Thee, our King, 
We long to see Thy shining Throne, 
And in Thy court Thy praises sing. 



167 



V. 



"0 ! saddest Isle, where none can die, 
Whence none can reach man's destined goal 
Our Home is far beyond yon sky, — 
'Tis Heaven alone can fill our soul." 

in. 

I dared not touch the fatal shore, 
It is too sad to live for aye, 
My heart would bleed, if evermore 
Death had no power to come my way. 



168 



SOME lEISH AUTHORS OF THE PENAL DAYS. 



While the swords of Irish chieftians flashed in the 
glens of Ireland, the pens of Irish priests in the cells 
and halls of Europe seemed to blaze like so many torch- 
es, and throw lurid lights upon the iniquity and tyranny 
of England. What England always dreaded was the 
light. She is fond of sinning, but she wishes her crimes 
to be hidden under the wings of night. She is desirous 
of a good name, and like the Pharisee, she proclaims in 
the highways her deeds of mercy and charity. In secret 
she loves to grind and pillage and plunder. It has ever 
been the aim of England to misrepresent the state of 
Ireland, to deny the existence of suffering in that coun- 
try, and to blacken and slander its inhabitants. For 
this reason she has always encouraged lying and igno- 
rant writers on Irish subjects. How happy she would 
feel if she could only make Ireland a " howling wilder- 
ness," if she could raze its altars and desecrate its holy 
graves without a fear that the rest of the world would 
hear of her dark deeds. I am not writing in passion. 
I merely state what I know, from a cool and j)atient 
examination of her seven-centuried treatment of my 
country, to be a clear and positive fact. How she 
longed during the Penal times to turn the heart of 
Europe away from Ireland and the Irish. How she 



169 



prayed — but prayer without faith and charity is of no 
avail — that France and Spain would not hear the sor- 
rowful cry of their Catholic brethren, who were being 
slaughtered by her miscreant soldiers in the ruins of 
their shrines and in the caverns of their mountains. 
But fortunately the Irish students on the Continent had 
pens, and could use them as skilfully as their brothers 
did their swords at Beal-an-atha-Buidhe and Benburb. 
Scattered through all parts of Europe they were masters 
of every living language. One published his book at 
Paris, another sent forth his volume at Home or Vienna; 
others wi'ote in Spanish or Portuguese ; others, again, 
wrote in German or Bohemian. All Europe learned the 
true state of Ireland's cruel slavery and martyrdom, 
and looked with horror and indignation on England. 
The mask of hypocrisy was rudely torn from the face 
of the mock philanthropist, and she was exposed to the 
scorn and contempt of the nations. What Ireland owes 
to her priestly authors of Penal times cannot be over 
estimated. 

Speaking of these writers, Thomas Darcy McGee says: 
— "It may not be improper to add a word or two as to 
the influence of their Irish works upon the European 
mind. It is certain that these occasioned in all the 
Catholic states strong anti-English sentiments. It is 
equally certain that they whetted the swords and fed 
the passions for distinction that animated the hearts of 
the Irish soldiers of France and Spain and Austria. 
They kept alive in no slight degree the spirit that form- 
ed and sustained those noted brigades, who are visible 



170 



whenever danger appears on or glory brightens the 
page of European history during the past two centuries. 
The men whom George II. had cause to curse his minis- 
ters for banishing, and for whom the Bourbons had 
reason to be grateful ; the men who bore away tattered, 
but untaken, the Austrian banner from Austerlitz ; the 
men who revolutionized South America, were in a great 
degree sustained in their integrity, and stimulated onward 
to fame, by perusing the pages of their brother exiles of 
the pen. And to them also is due much of that respect- 
ability which is attached, and so long has been attached, 
to the Irish name among the well-informed of those 
nations. It is the boast of many a Continental man that 
his father was from Ireland, and so well is this truth 
known that our oppressors masquerade beneath it into 
favor on their travels. The bravery of our banished 
captains alone could not have established this prestige 
round the character of our country ; but the writings of 
our exiled authors aiding, it was achieved." 

A catalogue alone of the names of Irish authors of the 
Penal days would fill a large volume. Of necessity, 
therefore, I will be forced to confine myself to some few 
writers who achieved more than an ordinary amount of 
fame in theiu time. It may be said in passing, that 
nearly every Irish scholar of note in Penal times was 
more or less distinguished as a writer. It may also be 
added, that though many of our Irish authors wrote in 
the language of the country in which they resided at 
the time, most of them addressed the learned world at 



171 



large, and therefore used the Latin language as a medi- 
um of conveying the knowledge they wished to impart. 

Thomas de Leon, whose proper name was Dillon, was 
a brilliant Jesuit whose memory was long honored in 
the learned halls of Spain. He taught philosophy, and 
was both dogmatic and moral professor for many years 
at Seville and Granada. He became eminent as a lin- 
guist. He received a high encomium from Athanasius 
Kircher for his profound knowledge of Hebrew, Greeks 
and the Arabic tongue. Like Lynch and other L'ish 
students, he is placed by Nicholas Antonio among the 
famous Spanish writers. Peter Talbot, no mean author- 
ity, calls him "the oracle of Spain, not only for his 
profoundness in divinity, but for his vast extent of 
knowledge in other sciences, and his great skill in the 
languages." He composed his works principally in 
Spanish. 

John Lynch was a secular priest and a native of Gal- 
way. His great work is "Cambrensis Eversus," a refut- 
ation of Gerald Barry. Harris says that Lynch, "with 
a judicious and sharp pen, exposeth the numberless 
mistakes, falsehoods, and calumnies of that writer ; 
showing, in confuting him, that he was well qualified to 
undertake the subject by a great compass of knowledge 
in the history of his country, and in other polite learn- 
ing. His work is not properly a history of Ireland, yet 
it* contains many choice collections out of Irish antiqui- 
ties." 

Augustin Gibbon de Burgo, D.D., an Austin hermit,, 
was a native of Mayo, and provincial of his Order. He 



172 



resided principally in the University of Erford, in 
Germany. He was a well-known author. Besides sev- 
eral works on theology, he published a large volume of 
sermons. 

Nicholas Comerford, of Waterford, was a famous 
Jesuit in his time. He wrote in English " a pithy and 
learned treatise, very exquisitely penned," and addressed 
to the inhabitants of his native city. Anthony Wood 
says that he "wrote and published divers other things." 
Constantine O'Mahony, known by the alias Cornelius a 
St. Patricio, in Portugal, was a priest burning with an 
ardent patriotism. He wrote a book to prove the right 
of Irish Catholics to the Irish nation. "The object of 
this book was to excite the Irish to persist in their re- 
bellion." He proves conclusively that the kings of 
England never had any claim to Ireland, and that their 
title was mere usurpation and tyranny. He adduces a 
Bull of Pope Gregory XIII, granted to Owen Roe 
O'Neill in 1642, in which the chiefs and soldiers of the 
preceding year are blessed, and a Plenary Indulgence 
granted to all in the future who will assist in freeing 
the Irish Catholics from the tyranny of England. He 
boldly asserts the right of Irishmen to crown a king of 
Irish blood ; nay, he even binds them in conscience to 
do so, and tells them openly that they must cast off the 
hated yoke of heretics and foreigners. It is said that 
the Nuncio favored this advanced doctrine. 

Paul Sherlock, as a youth of great promise, entered 
the Jesuit novitiate in Spain. "He passed through his 
course of philosoj^hy and divinity with great reputation, 



173 



became a very learned man, and was raised to the gov- 
ernment of tiie Irish seminaries of Compostella and 
Salamanca." In this last-named college he taught dog- 
matic theology. He lived altogether in Spain, and 
Nicholas Antonio ranks him among the writers of that 
country. He published three volumes on the Canticles. 
He also wrote some works on difficult theological sub- 
jects, in which he showed his deep and varied knowledge 
and his linguistic skill. 

Anthony Bruodine was a recollect from Clare, and 
Jubilate lecturer of divinity in the Irish convent of the 
Holy Conception of the Blessed Virgin, at Prague, in 
Bohemia. He wrote much on theological subjects, yet 
did not forget to devote some of his time to illustrating 
the history of Ireland. Anthony Gearnon, of St. Antho- 
ny's Convent, Louvain, wrote an Irish ascetic book 
which bore the title of the "Paradise of the Soul." 
Father Martin Green, a distinguished Jesuit, was the 
author of "The Life and Doctrines of the Society of 
Jesus against the Calumnies of the Evil-Minded." He 
had also commenced a " History of the Church of Eng- 
land," but death came before he could proceed far in 
this undertaking. 

Father William Bath, a learned Jesuit, wrote at the 
age of twenty-five many articles of deep and lasting 
interest to the members of his Order. He is said to 
have been very fond of music. AYhile still a young- 
student at Oxford he wrote "An Introduction to the Art 
of Musick, wherein are set down exact and easy Rules 
with Arguments and their Solutions, for such as seek to 



174 



inow the Reason of tlie Truth." In 1611 he published 
at Salamanca his " G-ate of Tongues," by which he open- 
ed to students an easy entrance to all languages. This 
work was published by the Jesuits of Salamanca, and 
was highly prized as a class-book throughout all Spain. 
He also published the ''Methodical Institution of the 
Principal Mysteries of the Christian Faith," with a 
method annexed for the exercise of general confession. 
This work was sent forth to the world of literature in 
English and Latin. The author also, under the assumed 
name of Peter Manriques, translated it into Spanish. 

James Piers, D.D., was royal Professor of Philosophy 
in the Aquitanic College. He was a pious and learned 
man and wrote an ascetic work, " To the Greater Glory 
of God, and the Blessed Virgin Mary." Peter "White, 
of Waterford — commonly called the lucky schoolmaster, 
as he had for students Richard Stanihurst, Peter Lom- 
bard, and other great literary lights — was the author of 
several prose works. He was also a poet of some 
repute. 

John Dowdall, an Austin hermit, who was appointed 
one of the preachers to King James II., was an author. 
He wrote "The Infallibility of the Catholic Church" 
and the "Life of St. Augustine." Richard Lynch, a 
native of Galway, taught philosophy, explained the 
Holy Writings, and lectured on dogmatic subjects, both 
at Yalladolid and Salamanca. He died in 1676, being 
at the time rector of the college of Salamanca. He pub- 
lished a volume of sermons in Spanish, and had his 
works on philosophy and theology printed at Lyons and 



<0 



Salamanca. Father John Travers, D. D., published a 
book in "Defence of the Pope's Supremacy." For this 
work he had his hands cut off. He was afterwards ex- 
ecuted at Tyburn, for what the English tyrants were 
pleased to call high treason. Cornelius Dovan, who 
was also executed for high treason, was the author of a 
l)ook which was fitly written by him on the Irish Mar- 
tyrs. Father Jerome Malone, a friar of St. Jerome, 
wrote several ascetic works, the princij)le of which were 
on the sufferings of our Blessed Saviour. 

Sebastian Shortal, a native of Kilkenny, became a 
Oistercian in "the monaster}^ of Nucale, in Gallicia, 
.Spain, where he was held in great reputation." A dis- 
tinguished Cistercian writer assures us that he was " a 
man of sharp wit, a good disputant, and one of the best 
poets their society ever had ; and that his writings had 
obtained a high character." Shortal was the author of 
some prose works. Father John Clare, a Jesuit, was 
highly esteemed by his superiors. He was the author 
of "The Converted Jew," which he dedicated to the two 
universities of Oxford and Cambridge. Father Purcell 
wrote "The Right Way to God." Florence Grey pub- 
lished an Irish grammar at Louvain. Kichard Rochford, 
a native of Leinster, and a Franciscan at Louvain, 
published in English " The Life of the Glorious Bishop, 
St. Patrick, Apostle and Primate of Ireland." He also 
wrote the Lives of the Holy Virgin, St. Bridget, and 
St. Columb, patrons of Ireland. His works were sent 
irom the press at St. Omer's. 

Thaddeus Dowling was a great canonist. He gave 



176 



much of his time to the study of his native land. Be- 
sides the " Annals of Ireland," he also had printed an 
Irish grammar. Richard Creagh, Bishop of Limerick, 
wrote several able works. He was the author of an 
"Ecclesiastical History," wrote a controversial work, 
and published the Lives of the Irish Saints and also an 
Irish catechism. John O'Farrell, a native of Munster, 
and a Franciscan in the Irish college of Louvain, was a 
great preacher, and acquired a reputation as a poet. 
He composed some elegant elegiac verses on the glories 
of the Geraldines. He also wrote some good verses on 
the Stigmata of St. Francis of Assisium. James Shiel, a 
Franciscan also, and a native of Down, and titular bis- 
hop of Down and Connor, wrote an answer to Dr. 
Jennings' "Challenge." Shields work was a great suc- 
cess, and went through several editions even in London. 
Barnaby Kearney, a Jesuit priest of Douay and Antwerp, 
was esteemed as a powerful preacher. He published 
some volumes of his sermons at Paris, Lyons, and Home. 
Edmund Dwyer, titular bishop of Limerick, wrote some 
poetry. One of his poems had for subject the "Fire of 
Kildare's holy fane." Father Henry Ryan, a Domini- 
can, who lived at Rome during the pontificate of Pope 
Urban VIII., wrote some creditable poetry. "One of 
his poems," says an old author," is reckoned a very 
elegant piece." Robert Chamberlain, a native of Ulster, 
a "secular doctor of divinity at Salamanca," was an able 
theologian. He composed some excellent tracts on his 
favorite study. 

Francis Matthews, a Franciscan from Cork, who held 



177 



responsible offices in his Order, is praised by Luke 
Wadding for his abilities in divinity and canon law. 
He was the author of several theological works. He 
was a very zealous man, and was put to death in his 
native city. The Jesuit, Peter Wadding, was a versatile 
writer. He defended his Order with great success a- 
gainst the malicious attacks of its enemies. He com- 
posed some volumes of moral and dogmatic theology*, 
and also published several poems. Francis O'Mellagh- 
lin, of Athlone, so famous in Irish story, was a Francis- 
can, and jubilate lecturer of divinity in the Irish college 
of Prague, and afterwards public professor of that 
faculty in the cathedral seminary at Imola, in the Ro- 
man states. So highly was he esteemed for his learning 
that he was ordered by the archbishop of Imo'a to write 
a work on philosophy. This he did in an able manner. 
Dr. Timothy O'Brien, of the county Cork, wrote some 
controversial works. He ably answered the vile attacks 
of Rowland Davis, dean of Cork. One of his books 
was styled "Goliath Beheaded with his Own Sword." 
O'Brien also published some sermons, Richard Arch- 
dekin, of Kilkenny, was a distinguished member of the 
Jesuit Order. He professed divinity and philosophy at 
Louvain and Antwerp. He soon acquired a great repu- 
tation as a theologian. Besides other works, he wrote 
"Theologia Tripartita TJniversa." This work was favor- 
ably known in all parts of Europe. As early as 1700 
the eleventh edition of it was published at Venice. 

John Harting, of Waterford, a member of the Cister- 
cian Order in Spain, wrote much and well about the 



178 



distinguished men who had adorned his society. Fa- 
ther WilHam Malone, a Jesuit, "was esteemed a danger- 
ous person," and so was arrested and cast into prison. 
But having made his escape, he fled to Spain and 
became rector of the Irish college of Seville. He wrote 
a masterly controversial work, called the " Jesuits' Chal- 
lenge." This book was deemed worthy of answers from 
several learned Protestants, among whom were Usher, 
"the great pillar of the established church," as Dr. 
Johnson calls him, Dr. Joshua Hoyle, Divinity Professor 
in Trinity College, Dublin, Roger Tuttock, an English 
Protestant minister, and Dr. Synge. Peter Redan, also 
a learned Jesuit, and a native of Meath, was educated 
at Salamanca, where he became famous for his Eru- 
dition. He was considered a profound Greek and 
Hebrew scholar. He died at the age of forty-four. He 
was the author of an able work against the Manich- 
seans. 

David Rothe, D. D., of the Universitv of Douav, 
bishop of Ossory, and vice primate of Ireland, was a 
most patriotic prelate, ''a man of great natural parts, 
and very well accomplished in learning." Usher speaks 
of him highly as a scholar, and calls him a "curious 
inquirer into the antiquities of his country." The great 
Protestant archbishop also confesses that he owes much 
to Rothe in matters of learning and information. 
Messingham says, "that he was well versed in all sorts 
of learning, was an elegant orator, a subtile j)hilosopher, 
a profound divine, an eminent historian, and a sharp 
reprover of vice." Bishop Rothe was certainly an able 



179 



and voluminous writer. His ^'Hibernia Eesurgens" 
was directed against Dempster, the ambitious Scotch- 
man, who made claim to the saints of Erin as natives of 
his own country. The vigor of his pen and his Iiish 
hagiological knowledge are clearly shown in this little 
work. "David Eothe," says Father Meehan, "whose 
works were destined to elevate and perpetuate the name 
of his progenitors and kindred, and whose chequered 
life — extending over so considerable a portion of the 
first half of the seventeenth century — would be sufficient 
to interest us without his celebrity as a writer." Mc- 
Gee says of this prelate : "Among the churchmen of 
the age who gave themselves up to research and 
authorship, scarcely any if we except Nicholas French, 
has a clearer claim to remembrance. His book, more 
than any other, prepared the minds of Ireland for the 
confederacy, and the Irish abroad for co-operation in 
its projects." 



180 



THE MONKS OF EKIN. 



The Irish monks, the Irish monks, their names are treasured still 
In many a foreign valley, on many a foreign hill, 
Their preaching, prayers, and fastings are still the peasants' themes 
Around the coast of Cornwall, and along old Flanders' streams ; 
Their lives austere and holy, and the wonders of their hands 
Still nourish faith and sanctity through fair Italia's lands. 
The cross they bore in triumph still bright as ever shines 
Above the domes of Austria, among the Tuscan vines. 

Sedulius, the poet, and Columbkille, the dove, 

At Rome and Hy are honored, and remembered still with love ; 

At Lucca, St. Frigidian, in a church ablaze with lights. 

Is honored with pure worship, 'mid the pomp of Eoman rites, 

Even still the British miners exult on Piran's feast. 

And though they hate the Church of Eome, they venerate her priest. 

The bells of sweet Tarentum, as they wake the matin air. 

Still tell in tones of gladness that Catuldus' faith is there. 

'Quaint Mechlin's noblest temple to an Irish monk is raised. 
In every home in Mechlin St. Rum old's name is praised ; 
Virgilius, the gifted, in his glorious Salzburg tomb, 
Is honored by the silent prayer and by the cannon's boom ; 
Old hymns are sung to Fridolin in the islands of the Rhine, 
And the relics of Besan9on's saint sleep in a silver shrine ; 
The voice that roused Crusaders by the Tagus, Rhone and Po, 
Seems ringing still o'er Malachy at the convent of Clairvaux. 



181 



The Irish monks, the Irish monks, their spirit still survives 
In the stainless Church of Ireland, and in her priesthood's lives, 
Their spirit still doth linger round Holy Cross and Kells — 
Oh, Ireland's monks can know no death "while gush our holy wells. 
High Cashel's fane is standing, and though in the spoiler's hand 
Like the captive ark of Judah, 'tis a blessing to our land, 
For proudly it reminds us of the palmy days of yore, 
When kings were monks and monks were kings, upon our Irish 
shore. 



182 



IBISH GENIUS ABEOAD. 



(Before taking farewell of the Penal Times, I wisli to devote a few pages 
to some illustrious Irishmen, not ecclesiastics, who reflected glory on their 
land and race in different foreign countries.) 



The Irisliman is tlie eagle of the human race. He 
is proud, daring, and born to soar. Give him a fair 
opportunity, do not fetter him, and he will take his 
place among the stars, he will not rest until he is 
bathed in the light and glory of the sun. The blood of 
Irishmen seems to partake of the immortality of their 
souls. It may be spilled in torrents by successive 
English tyrants ; it may be poured out like water on 
every battle-field of Europe, and America ; it may be 
drunk up by famine-fevers, and still it does not seem 
to diminish, it preserves all its glorious vitality. What 
other race but the Irish could have passed through the 
fiery furnace of Penal Times, and live? What other 
people, could have squandered so much blood in wars 
not always their own, and still exist : "From calcu- 
lations and researches that have been made at the War- 
office" says an older writer, "it has been ascertained, 
that from the arrival of the Irish troops in France, in 
1691, to 1745, the year of the battle of Fontenoy, more 



183 



than four hundred and fifty thousand Irishmen died in 
the service of France." When we consider all the suffer- 
ings, the persecutions, the exiling, and the ten thou- 
sand nameless wrongs that the sons of Ireland have 
endured for long centuries it looks like a miracle that 
there now exists one genuine Irishman in all the wide 
world. And yet Erin's children are multiplied as "the 
stars in the heavens." Surely we may say, — "the finger 
of God is here." Their defeat in one field only made 
their victory in the adjoining one more glorious. 
Driven from their own little Island, the rest of the 
earth became their inheritance. They soon shared in 
the glory of all civilized nations. In the competition 
for honors — literary — civic — martial — they often bore 
away the laurels. Clancy writes : "O'SuUivan, Law- 
less, Gardiner, O'Donnell and O'Reilly became grandees 
of Spain ; and men yet living can recall the time when 
O'Donnell was Dictator at Madrid. Lacy and Browne 
were Marshals of Russia, and won the most brilliant vic- 
tories of their era. Admiral O'Dwyer commanded the 
Russian fleet in 1787. Marshal Maurice Kavanagh was 
Chamberlain of Poland ; Colonel Harold filled a similar 
position in Bavaria. Patrick Lawless was Ambassador 
from Portugal to France ; O'Reilly represented Spain 
at the Court of Louis XYI." The following extract 
from a newspaper published in Vienna, in March 1766, 
gives us an account of some of the distinguished guests 
who were present at a banquet given by Count O'Ma- 
hony : "On the 17th of this month his Excellency, 
Count O'Mahony, Ambassador from Spain to the Court 



184 



of Vienna, gave a grand entertainment in honor of 
St. Patrick, to which were invited all persons of dis- 
tinction that were Irish descent — being of an illustri- 
ous Iiish family. Among others were present — Count 
Lacy, President of the Council of ^yar ; General McDon- 
nell, General Brown, General McGuire, General Plunkett, 
General O'Kelly and General McEUigott ; four chiefs of 
the grand cross, two governors, several knights military, 
six staff officers, four privy councillors of Austria, with 
the principal officers of state — who, to show their 
respect for the Irish nation, wore crosses in honor of 
the day, as did the whole court of Vienna." 

As, is well-known, CKeilly, Kavanagh and Prince 
Nugent are historic names in Austria, in which country 
their bearers were Aulic Councillors. Sarsfield, who is 
so greatly admired by Macaulay, and O'Brien, became 
marshals of France ; Hamilton, Lally and McCarthy, 
Generals ; Sheldon, Galmoy, O'Carroll, O'Gara, Fitz- 
gerald, O'Mahony, O'Neil, Power, McMahon, Burke, 
Murphy, Maguire, Dillon, Eoche, McDonnell, Lee, 
McEUigott, and a host of others commanded regiments, 
many of them founding families whose representatives 
play an important part even still in France. 

According to Sir Bernard Burke, the organization and 
tactics of modern armies in Europe were perfected by 
a Franco-Irish colonel, named Daniel O'Connell. Mar- 
quis McMahon (grand-sire of the late Marshal-Presi- 
dent), was one of the first agents to investigate the con- 
dition of the American colonists, and suggest plans for 
their liberation. " It is strange," said Napoleon, on his 



185 



second entry into Vienna, (1809), that now as in 1803, 
on entering the Austrian Capitol, I find myself in inter- 
course with Count O'Reilly." It is said that Napoleon 
"had good reason to know the Count, for it was he, 
with his band of exiled '98 men, that saved the broken 
army of Austria after Austerlitz. In that SLrmj at that 
time there were over forty Irish names, ranging from 
the grade of colonel to field-marshal ; and when Maria 
Theresia of Hungary instituted fifty Crosses of the 
Legion of Honor, forty-six of them were worn on the 
breasts of Irishmen." 

The following citation, though long, is so pertinent to 
our subject that we cannot omit it : — 

"Louis XIV. having sent seven French battalions to 
Ireland in the beginning of the year 1690, whether that 
he required the same number of Irish troops in return, 
or that James II., who was at that time in the country, 
thought proper to send them, three Irish regiments ar- 
rived at Brest in the beginning of May, on board 
French ships, under command of Justin McCarthy, 
Viscount Mountcashel, a lieutenant-general in England, 
and who still retained his rank in France. The regi- 
ments composing this brigade were Mountcashel's — 
an old regiment of long standing — O'Brien's and Dil- 
lon's, each consisting of two battalions, containing one 
thousand six hundred men, divided into sixteen com- 
panies. On their arrival in France, Mountcashel 
entered into an arrangement for this corps, by which 
the officers were to be paid as they are at present 
(1754) : and the soldiers a penny a day more than the 



186 



French. This corps was sent to Savoy, where they dis- 
tinguished themselves under Marshal de Catenat in 
the reduction of that province ; particularly at the 
battle of Marseilles, gained by the French on the 4th 
of November 1693. Daniel O'Brien, colonel of the regi- 
ment that bore his name, having inherited his father's 
title, who had lately died, called it the Clare regiments 
He died at Pignerol : Captain Murrough O'Brien served 
in Hamilton's regiment, Greder's, a German, and the 
Clare regiment. Lord Mountcashel having died at 
Barege, from a wound in the chest which he received 
in Savoy the year he went to France, his regiment was 
given to De Lee, and afterwards called Bulkley's regi- 
ment, Talbot, brigadier-coloMel of the Limerick regi- 
ment, was appointed to the one De Lee had left. Talbot 
was the son of the duke of Tirconnel ; he had served in 
France from his youth, and was deemed an able officer. 
He was succeeded by Charles O'Brien, Viscount Clare, 
brother to him who died at Pignerol after the battle of 
Marseilles. 

Charles O'Brien went to France in 1691, after the 
surrender of Limerick, as captain of James LE.'s body- 
guard. It is probable that his regiment of dragoons, 
which he commanded at the battle of the Boyne, had 
been disbanded in Ireland. After the battle of Mar- 
seilles, he was appointed to the queen of England's 
regiment of dragoons ; O'Carrol, the colonel having 
been killed. He revived the name of the Clare regiment ; 
he was killed in 1706, at the battle of Ramillies, and his 
regiment given to Lieutenant-colonel Murrough O'Brien, 



187 



who was descended from the house of Carrigogoiniol, a 
branch of the O'Brien family. When lieutenant-colonel, 
he distinguished himself at the battle of Ramillies by 
taking two stand of colors from the enemy, which were 
deposited in the house of the Irish Benedictines at Ypres. 
His skilful manoeuvre at Pallue, by which he saved 
Combray, is still greater proof of his talents ; after it he 
received the rank of field-marshal of the king's army^ 
' If the Marshal de Montesquieu had done him the justice 
due to him for the affair at Pallue,' says Thuomond, 
* he would have had a greater share in the king's favor 
than he possessed.' Murrough O'Brien retained the 
command of this regiment, under the name of O'Brien's 
regiment, till his death, which took place in 1720. He 
left a son called Daniel, a colonel of foot in the service 
of king Louis, who was created a knight of St. Lazarus 
in 1716, a peer of Ireland, under the title of Earl of 
Lismore, in 1747, and received the grand cross of the 
royal and military order of St. Louis in 1750. He died 
at Rome in 1759. 

Dillon's was the only regiment of Lord Mountcashel's- 
brigade that retained its name. It was raised in Ire- 
land by Lord Dillon's grandfather, and commanded by 
Arthur Dillon, his second son, lieutenant-general of the 
king's army. He died at St. Germaine-en-Laie, 1734. 
This nobleman added to his illustrious birth superior 
skill in the art of war, and his exploits have been cele- 
brated in the annals of France. He left several sons, 
the eldest of whom succeeded his- uncle, Lord Dillon. 
Two were killed at the head of their regiments, at the 



188 



battles of Fontenoy and Lawfeld ; and the last lias been 
lately translated from the archbishopic of Toulouse to 
that of Narbonne. 

Irish regiments were known as Dorington's, Rothe's, 
Burke's, Albemarle's, Fitzgerald's, Berwick's and Gal- 
nioy's. The regiments of Burke and Dillon were en- 
gaged at the battle of Cremona, February 1702, in which 
they particularly distinguished themselves, and con- 
tributed mainly to the defeat of the enemy. As a mark 
of the king's satisfaction he raised their pay. 

Sheldon's regiment of cavalry distinguished them- 
selves at the battle of Spire, on the 24th of November 
1703. In 1708, the king of Spain began to raise two 
regiments of dragoons, and three Irish battalions, con- 
sisting of the prisoners taken from the English army in 
the battle of Almanza. These corps were officered by 
the half -pay officers who had served with the Irish regi- 
ments in France. 

Burke applied for and obtained permission for his 
regiment, which had often served in Spain (in order to 
avoid shifting) to offer its services to the king of Spain, 
This being granted, he proceeded to that country, and 
subsequently served with distinction in Sicily, Africa 
and Italy, during the war of 1733, under the king of 
the two Sicilies, to whom his father, the king of Spain, 
had sent him in 1758. Burke's regiment remained in 
Naples ; it was called the king's corps, and received an 
addition of two battalions. 

Through the changes which took place among the 
Irish troops in France, the king of Spain was enabled 



189 



to increase his three Irish regiments of foot by a bat- 
talion each, so that he had six made up of the super- 
numary men who remained unemployed in France. 
They served at Or an in Sicily, and in Italy in 1733, 
1734, with the highest distinction — four of these bat- 
talions, with the Waloon guards, were successful in 1713, 
in repulsing the enemy at Veletry, and in saving Don 
Philip, who was in danger of being taken prisoner." 

Many Irish soldiers held high positions in the Nether- 
lands. The archdukes, Albert and Isabella, promoted 
Henry O'Neill, the son of the great Hugh, to the com- 
mand of an Irish regiment then in their service. They 
honored also with high rank in their armies, Rory 
O'Dougherty, the brother of the chivalrous, but ill-fated 
Sir Cahir, and Daniel O'Cahan, afterwards lieutenant- 
general to Owen Roe O'Neill. An Irish officer named 
O'Rorke was distinguished for his valor in the Italian 
campaign, and fell at the battle of Luzzara. 

The following eloquent and interesting passage will 
give our readers an idea of how the Irish Chaplains 
excited their countrymen to deeds of martial valor, and 
cheered them on to glory : — 

"Your ancestors have not disappointed the hopes that 
France built on them. Nervinde, Marseilles, Barcelona, 
Cremona, Luzzara, Spire, Castiglione, Almanza, Villa 
Viciosa, and many other places, witnesses of their im- 
mortal valor, consecrated their devotedness for the new 
country which had adopted them. France applauded 
their zeal, and the greatest of monarchs raised their 



190 



praise to the highest pitch by honoring them with the 
flattering title of ' his brave Irishmen/ 

The examples of their chiefs animated their courage : 
the Viscounts Mountcashel and Clare, the Count of 
Lucan, the Dillons, Lees, Rothes, O'Donnels, Fitz- 
geralds, Nugents and Galmoys, opened to them on the 
borders of the Meuse, the Ehine and Po, the career of 
glory, while the O'Mahonys, MacDonnels, Lawlesses, 
the Lacys, the Burks, O'Carrols, Craftons, Comerford, 
Gardner and O'Conner, crowned themselves with laurels 
on the shores of the Tagus. 

The neighboring powers wished to have in their ser- 
vice the children of these great men ; Spain retained 
some of you near her throne. Naples invited you to her 
fertile country; Germany called you to the defence of 
her eagles. The Taffs, the Hamiltons, O'Dwyers, 
Browns, Wallaces and O'Neills, supported the majesty 
of the empire, and were intrusted with its most impor- 
tant posts. The ashes of Mareschal Brown are every day 
watered with the tears of the soldiers to whom he was 
so dear, while the O'Donnels Maguires, Lacys, and 
others, endeavored to form themselves after the example 
of that great man. 

Russia, that vast and powerful empire, an empire 
which has passed suddenly from obscurity to so much 
glory, wished to learn the military discipline from your 
corps. Peter, the Great, that penetrating genius and 
hero, the creator of a nation which is now triumphant, 
thought he could not do better than confide that essen- 
tial part of the art of war to the Field Mareschal de 



191 



Lacy ; and the worthy daughter of that great emperor, 
always intrusted to that warior the principal defence of 
the august throne which she filled with so much glory. 
Pinally the Viscount Fermoy, general officer in the ser- 
vice of Sardinia, has merited all the confidence of that 
crown. 

But why recall those times that are so long past? 
"Why do I seek your heroes in those distant regions? 
Permit me, gentlemen, to bring to your recollection 
that great day, forever memorable in the annals of 
Prance ; let me remind you of the plains of Pontenoy, 
so precious to your glory ; those plains where in con- 
cert with chosen French troops, the valiant Count of 
Thomond being at your head, you charged with so much 
valor an enemy so formidable ; animated by the presence 
of the august sovereign who rules over you, you con- 
tributed to the gaining of a victory, which, till then, 
appeared doubtful. Lawfeld beheld you, two years 
afterwards, in concert with one of the most illustrious 
corps of Prance, force intrenchments which appeared to 
be impregnable. Menin, Ypres, Tournay, saw you crown 
yourselves with glory under their walls, while your 
countrymen, under the standards of Spain, performed 
prodigies of valor at Campo Sancto and at Yeletri. 

But while I am addressing you, a part of your corps 
is flying to the defence of the allies of Louis ; another 
is sailing over the seas to seek amidst the waves of 
another hemisphere, the eternal enemies of his empire. 

Behold, gentlemen, what all Europe contemplates in 



192 



you; behold herein the qualities which have gained 
esteem for you, even from your most unjust enemies." 

With regard to distinguished Irishmen abroad Tho- 
mas D'Arcy McGee has the following: — "Of general 
officers, it would be hard to muster the lists. The Irish 
governors of important posts are more easily enumer- 
ated. One Browne was Governor of Deva, for Austria ; 
another, Governor-General of Livonia for Bussia ; Count 
Thomond was Commander at Languedoc; Lally was 
Governor of Pondicherry ; one Kavanagh was Governor 
of Prague ; another, of Buda ; O'Dwyer was Commander 
of Belgrade ; Lacy, of Kiga ; and Lawless, Governor of 
Majorca." 

Sutton, Count of Clonard, was Governor of the Dau- 
phin, in France ; Nugent was Minister of Austria at 
Berlin ; Clarke, Duke de Feltre, was Minister of War 
in France. 

"In Spanish America," says the author just quoted, 
"the Captains General O'Higgins of Chili, O'Donoju of 
Mexico, and O'Donnell of Cuba ; the Supreme Director 
O'Higgins ; the Generals O'Eeilly, O'Brien and Deve- 
reux; the Colonels McKenna, O'Leary, O'Connor and 
O'Carroll, were all men of one generation — all Irishmen 
by birth or parentage." "To North America, within 
seventy years, we have contributed ten major generals, 
five commodores, a president, two vice-presidents, six 
authors of the Constitution, nine signers of the Declara- 
tion, upwards of twenty generals of brigade, and an im- 
mense amount of minor officers, and rank and file to the 
army." 



193 



It is now nearly forty years since McGee thus spoke. 
Wliat a glorious number, if he still lived, he could now 
add to those given. Who can count the hosts of gal- 
lant Irishmen who distinguished themselves in the late 
war? The names of many of them shine upon the 
brightest pages in the history of the struggle for the 
Union. America can never forget what she owes to 
those devoted sons of Ireland who lavishly poured out 
their blood for her cause ; she can never forget those 
bold and chivalrous men whose military genius, whose 
unflagging zeal, whose fiery valor, on every battle-field 
of the Rebellion, helped to preserve her from being- 
torn to pieces, from having her limbs scattered like the 
branches of the lightning-riven tree. It does not come 
within the scope of this work to speak at any length of 
the great Protestant Irishmen who reflected credit on 
their country, or who helped to make her known to the 
nations. Many of theu* names are as familiar to the 
students of English literature as those of Milton or 
Byron. In many cases their whole inspiration was Irish, 
and their work made beautiful and solid by principles 
and ideas borrowed from their Catholic ancestors, or 
countrymen. "From the inner essence of Irish cha- 
racter," says Henry Giles, "came to birth, voice and 
might the turbid power of Flood, the deep thinking of 
Plunket, the Shakespearean sweep of Burke, with all 
the other men of flaming tongues, in whose burning 
hearts the fire of a generous nationality was kindled. 
If Irish genius gave nothing to the world but the elo- 
quence of such men, in that alone it has given to the 



194 



world an immortal contribution." It is not necessary 
for us to allude to Sheridan, Curran, Grattan, and a 
liost of other great Irish Protestants whose fame is 
world-wide. Charles Phillips, after depicting in his 
own beautiful, though somewhat florid language, the 
virtues which characterize the Irish Catholic people, 
thus speaks : "Look to Protestant Ireland, shooting 
over the empire those rays of genius, and those thun- 
derbolts of war, that have at once embellished and pre- 
served it. I speak not of a former era. I refer not for 
my example to the day just passed when our Burkes, 
our Barrys, and our Goldsmiths, exiled by this system 
from their native shore, wreathed the ' immortal sham- 
rock,' round the brow of painting, poetry and elo- 
quence ! But now, even while I speak, who leads the 
British senate ? A Protestant Irishman ! "Who guides 
the British arms? A Protestant Irishman! In his 
speech at Dublin, early in this century, Mr. Phillips 
argues very correctly and eloquently that a great loss 
to the world was sustained through the Penal laws 
against Catholic education in Ireland. How many a 
•genius was born in Ireland during the Penal Times, who 
for want of education lived and died without showing 
even a spark of the immortal fire that burned in his 
breast; "If we argue," he says, "from the services of 
Protestant Ireland, to the losses sustained by the bond- 
age of Catholic Ireland, and I do not see why we should 
not, the state which continues such a system is guilty of 
little less than political suicide. It matters little where 
the Protestant Irishman has been employed ; whether 



195 



with Burke wielding the senate with his eloquence, 
with Castlereagh guiding the cabinet by his counsels, 
with Barry enriching the arts with his pencil, with 
Swift adorning literature by his genius, with Goldsmith 
softening the heart by his melody, or with Wellington 
chaining victory at his car, he may boldly challenge 
the competition of the world. Oppressed and impover- 
ished as our country is, every muse has cheered, and 
every art adorned, and every conquest crowned her. 
Plundered, she was not poor, for her character enriched; 
attainted, she was not titleless, for her services ennobled; 
literally outlawed into eminence and fettered into fame, 
the fields of her exile were immortalized by her deeds, 
and the links of her chain became decorated by her 
laurels. Is this fancy? Or is it fact? Is there a de- 
partment in the state in which Irish genius does not 
possess a preponderance ? Is there a conquest which it 
does not achieve, or a dignity which it does not adorn? 
At this instant, is there a country in the world to which 
England has not deputed an Irishman as her represen- 
tative? She has sent Lord Moira to India, Sir Gore 
Ouseley to Ispahan, Lord Stuart to Vienna, Lord Castle- 
reagh to Congress, Sir Henry Wellesly to Madrid. 
Mr. Canning to Lisbon, Lord Strangford to the Brazils, 
Lord Clancarty to Holland, Lord Wellington to Paris — 
all Irishmen ! " 

Can it be that the land that has produced so many 
brilliant men as we have referred to in the course of this 
book is not worthy of self-government, of Home Rule ? 
It certainly must be blind and stupid prejudice that 



196 



tells us that though Irish genius can rule the world, 
aye, and a thousand worlds like this, it cannot rule the 
country God gave it as its inheritance. The glory of 
Irish talent, and the virtue of the Irish race the world 
over, is the strongest argument for me of the fitness of 
the Irish Nation to rule itself wisely and well. What 
tact has England shown in ruling Ireland? Where is 
her wisdom? Has she succeeded in making Ireland a 
land of peace, of plenty, of prosperity? Has she encou- 
raged the fine arts, has she aided commerce, has she 
recompensed agriculture, has she done anything for the 
fisheries? Has she advanced civilization, or the spirit 
of religion in Ireland? Who can point out one good 
and lasting service rendered to Ireland during the last 
seven hundred years by England? She has banned edu- 
cation, she has burned abbeys, she has robbed and torn 
down churches, she has ground the peasant and the chief 
and sent them into exile, she has desolated whole vil- 
lages and beggared cities, she has trampled upon every 
right human and divine, she has shipped tens of thou- 
sands of gentle Irish maidens to the Barbadoes to be sold 
as slaves in the market-place, she has butchered holy 
and learned bishops, she has strangled our princes in 
her prison-towers, — but yesterday she silenced our 
members of Parliament and cast them into gaol-- while 
I write three Irish priests are confined in infamous cells 
— and the English Government, the Tory Government, 
has declared that Coercion, Coercion, the Eternal Coercion 
mast be used to heal Ireland's wounds, to feed her 
hungry, to dry up her tears, to pacify her sons, to con- 



197 



sole her exiled children, to put her on the road to hap- 
piness and prosperity. Oh, the blindness and the folly 
of tyrants — of English tyrants. Oh, the madness of 
English statesmen. Gladstone, forever honored be his 
name, came between England and Ireland with the 
palm-branch in his hand, he came with a balm for all 
Ireland's woes, he came with a wand to charm out of 
Ireland's heart the memory of past wrongs, he came 
with light from heaven around his head, he came to 
lead England out of shame, and danger, and trouble, 
and to lead Ireland into peace, and joy, and glory — but 
he was rejected, he was cast down, he was all but stoned 
by his own bigoted fellow-rulers. Woe, woe, to Eng- 
land, the day she wholly rejects the saving, I may say 
the holy, policy which the greatest of English statesmen 
at present proposes. 

" Give Ireland Home Rule, and she will leap from her 
bed in the sea, and draw nearer to the sun." And Home 
Rule she must have. It is not in the power of England, 
it is not in the power of the whole world to keep it 
much longer from her. But the world does not wish to 
keep it from her. The voice of the Nations has thun- 
dered forth that Irishmen alone have a right, or are fit, 
to govern Ireland. And so, my countrymen, in the 
cheering and hopeful words of one of Ireland's gifted 
sons : " Let us turn from the blight and ruin of this 
wintry day to the fond anticipation of a happier period, 
when our prostrate land shall stand erect among the 
nations, fearless and unfettered; her brow blooming 
with the wreath of science, and her path strewed with 



198 



the offerings of art ; the breath of heaven blessing her 
flag, the extremities of earth acknowledging her name, 
her fields waving with the fruits of agriculture, her 
ports alive with the contributions of commerce, and 
her tempels vocal with unrestricted piety." The follow- 
ing passage from Richard Lalor Shiel, probably the 
most eloquent appeal ever made in the British Parlia- 
ment, while it shows us that the martial spirit of Ire- 
land was not extinct in the beginning of this century, 
is a proof, a strong and powerful proof, of what Eng- 
land owes Ireland, and at the same time shows us the 
might and fire of Irish eloquence : " The Duke of Wel- 
lington is not a man of an excitable temperament. His 
mind is of a cast too martial to be easily moved ; but, 
notwithstanding his habitual inflexibility, I cannot help 
thinking that, when he heard his Roman Catholic 
countrymen (for we are his countrymen) designated by 
a phrase as offensive as the abundant vocabulary of his 
eloquent confederate could supply,* — I cannot help 
thinking that he ought to have recollected the many 
fields of fight in which we have been contributors to his 
renown. The battles, sieges, fortunes that he has 
passed, ought to have come back on him. He ought to 
have remembered that, from the earliest achievement in 
which he displayed that military genius which has 
placed him foremost in the annals of modern warfare, 
down to that last and surpassing combat which has 
made his name imperishable, — from Assaye to "Waterloo, 



* Lord Lyndhurst had a short time before referred, in the House of 
Commons, to the Irish as "aliens, in blood and religion." 



199 



the Irish soldiers with whom your armies are filled, were 
the inseparable auxiliaries to the glory with which 
his unparalleled successes have been crowned. Whose 
were the arms that drove your bayonets at Vimiera 
through the phalanxes that never reeled in the shock 
of war before ? What desparate valor climbed the steeps 
and filed the moats of Badajos? All his victories should 
have rushed and crowed back upon his memory, — 
Vimiera, Badajos, Salamanca, Albuera, Toulouse, and 
last of all, the greatest. — Tell me, — for you w^ere 
there, — I appeal to the gallant soldier before me (Sir 
Henry Hardinge), from whose opinions I differ but who 
bears, I know, a generous heart in an interpid breast ; 
— tell me, — for you must needs remember, — on that day 
when the destinies of mankind were trembling in the 
balance, while death fell in showers, when the artillery 
of France was levelled with a precision of the most 
deadly science, — when her legions, incited by the voice 
and inspired by the example of her mighty leader, 
rushed again and again to the onset, — tell me if, for 
an instant, when to hesitate for an instant was to be 
lost, the " aliens" blenched ? And when, at length, the 
moment for the last and decided movement had arrived, 
and the valor which had so long been wisely checked 
was, at last, let loose, — when, with ' words familiar, but 
immortal, the great captain commanded the great as- 
sault, — tell me if Catholic Ireland with less heroic valor 
than the natives of this your own glorious country pre- 
cipitated herself upon the foe ? The blood of England, 
Scotland, and of Ireland, flowed in the same stream, and 



200 



drenched the same field. When the chill morning 
dawned, their dead lay cold and stark together ; — in 
the same deep pit their bodies were deposited ; the 
green corn of spring is now breaking from their com- 
mingled dust ; the dew falls from Heaven upon their 
union in the graTe. Partakers in every peril, in the 
glory shall we not be permitted to participate ; and 
shall we be told as a requittal, that we are estranged 
from the noble country for whose salvation our life- 
blood was poured out?" 

Though this chapter is already growing long, and 
assuming an eclectic form, I cannot help inserting here 
Thomas Francis Meagher's eloquent tribute to Irish 
bravery : — 

"We, the children of the Irish race, have memories 
that point to the loftier regions of our history — memo- 
ries, that penetrate and disturb the clouds which over- 
charge the present hour, revealing to us in the light 
that quivers from them, many a fragment and Monu- 
ment of glory. There are laurels interwoven with the 
cypress upon that old ruin, the home of our fathers, the 
sanctuary of our faith, the fountain of our love. Deso- 
late as it is, it reminds us of our descent and lineage. 
Of the soldiers, the scholars, and the statesmen, who 
constitute the bright and indestructable links of that 
decent and lineage, we have no reason to be ashamed. 
The nation that lifts its head the highest in the world, 
would vote them statues in her Pantheon. Names and 
exploits that are dear to the Irish soldier arise in quick 
succession and star the field of memory. The names of 



201 



O'Neill, O'Donnell, Mountcashel, Sarsfield, Dillon and 
De Lacy awake, like the echos of a trumpet from the 
rugged heights and recesses of the past. There is the 
defense of Cambray, the retreat of A.ltenheim, the battle 
of Maplaquet. The colors of the Irish Brigade moulder 
in the church of the Invalides. France cannot forget 
the noble contributions made to her glory by the regi- 
ments of Burke, Galmoy and Hamilton. She cannot 
forget that, at Cremona, where the activity and vigor of 
her own sons were relaxed by the fine climate, the wines, 
and the gayeties of Italy, — when not a soldier scoured 
the neighborhood, or paced the ramparts, — the Irish 
regiments alone retained the vigor of military discipline, 
they alone were found regularly under arms, on parade, 
or at the posts assigned them — that they alone fighting 
fiercely beat back the cavalry of Prince Eugene, and 
the grenadiers of De Merci. Neither can France forget, 
that on the Adige — up through the mountains, whose 
shadow darken the northern shores of the Lake of 
Garda, — up through the passes where the best of the 
Austrian engineers had cut their trenches, and a gallant 
peasantry stood guard — up the face of those steep pre- 
cipices that seemed accessible only to the eagle and the 
chamois, the Irish sprang and clutched the Keys of 
Biva. But not to the memory of France alone do we 
appeal for the vindication of the courage of our fathers. 
Spain which received the remnant of Tyrone's army, 
Austria in whose ranks so many thousands of the exiles 
perished — Bussia whose forces were organized by Lacy, 
will bear witness that poor old Ireland has given birth 



202 



to men, whose chivalry and genius entitle their country 
to a noble fate. In South America, too, there, where the 
Andes tower and the Amazon rolls its mighty flood, the 
Irish Celt has left his footprints on many a field of 
triumph. Venezuela, Chacabuco, Valparaiso, have re- 
collections of the fiery valor before which the flag of 
the Escurial went down. And when the great and good 
Pope Pius IX. stood in his beleaguered palace, pro- 
testing against the invasion of his ancient and illustri- 
ous domain, an Irish Brigade went forth from the Green 
Isle to fight his battles. The return of that Brigade 
from Bome flashed an awakening brightness across the 
Irish sky. It was headed by an O'Beilly, in every re- 
spect a worthy kinsman of Andrew of Ballinlough, whose 
splendid charge with his army of dragoons saved the 
wreck of the Austrians at Austerlitz, and moreover, well 
entitled him to wear the spurs of Myles the Slasher, 
w^ho fell at the bridge of Pinae, fighting against the 
Cromwellians, having with his own hand slain four and 
twenty of the foe. The steamship that conveys them 
to Cork is greeted by a swarm of boats and yachts danc- 
ing brightly upon the waters of the noblest harbors in 
in the world, and as they ascend the river of Gougane 
Barra, the bells of Shandon and St. Pinbar strike in and 
make glorious music with the cheers and thunders that 
announce the safe return of the gallant lads, who, at 
Spoletto, where they were only three hundred and sixty 
strong stood their ground for fourteen hours against 
twenty-two thousand of the Piedmontese — stood their 
ground till the last cartridge was gone, and who, at Lo- 



203 



retto, smashing through, and trampling down three 
times their number cleared a road for Lamoriciere to 
escape. At Thurles, eight thousand torches flash at 
midnight, their redeemed name over the broad plains of 
Tipperary. In Wexford their courage and devotion re- 
ceived the attestations of men whose fathers won for the 
Black Stairs, and the valleys of the Banna and the Boro, 
a fame not less effulgent than that which illuminates 
the forests of La Vendee and the crags of the Tyrol : 
while in Kilkenny, the ovation which greets them has 
not been equalled since the Confederates under Ormond 
met the Nuncio in the Cathedral of St. Canice.'' 



204 
AVE MAKIA! 



Oh, never yet was a music sweet, 
As an Ave wispered low ; 
Oh, the Angels speed on pinions fleet, 
To hear its sacred flow ; 

Ave Maria, 

How sweet it sounds at the vesper hour, 
"When the maiden, meek and lone. 
Is blooming like a lovely flower, 
At the foot of Mary's throne ; 

Ave Maria. 

How sweet it floats o'er the stormy wave, 
"When the mariners kneel to pray ; 
How sweet it flows o'er the new-made grave 
Of a friend just passed away ; 

Ave Maria. 

How rich it breathes in the chapel dim, 
How rich 'neath cathedral dome ; 
More rich a sound, or more grand a hymn. 
Never cheered a christian home ; 

Ave Maria. 

Oh, sweet is an Ave at all times, 
'Tis the sweetest sound on earth ; 
It hath the ring of sinless climes, 
'Tis a note of heavenly birth i 

Ave Maria. 



205 



GKAYES OF IKISH EXILES ON THE 
CONTINENT OF EUEOPE. 



ScAECELY a cathedral bell is rung on the continent of 
Europe that does not sound above the remains of some 
Irish priest or Bishop. Seldom a flower fades in the 
cloistered cemeteries along the banks of the yellow 
Tiber, or the castled Khine, that some of its leaves do 
not touch the lonely grave of some monk or student 
from the green banks of the Shannon or the Liffey. 
The names of Irish students are carved on the flagged 
floors of many an abbey chapel, and on the walls of many 
a famous shrine from the Tagus to the Garonne. St. 
Fridolin sleeps in his island-city of Seckingen, in the 
abbey he himself founded for the Benedictines ; the 
holy remains of St. Fiacre centuries ago were removed 
from the oratory of Breuil, and may now be found near 
the mausoleum of Bossuet, behind the high altar in the 
Cathedral of Meaux ; the noble martyrs, Kylian, Colman 
and Totnan are buried in the principal church of 
Wiirtzburg ; St. Frigidian lies at rest in the church of 
"The Three Holy Levites," at Lucca, while Cataldus 
awaits the Resurrection not far from the blue waters of 
the fair bay of Tarentum. Often the twelve knights of 
St. Bupert maybe seen kneeling by the tomb of St.Vigil- 
lius, in Salzburg. St. Caidoc and St. Fricor are 



206 



interred in the abbey of Centule, in the territory of 
Ponthieu, Picardy. In the collegiate church of Lens, 
in the diocese of Arras, the body of St. Yulganus is 
honored. Marianus Scotus, the chronographer, was 
laid to pious rest in the Church of St. Martin, beyond 
the walls of the city of Mentz. St. Tressan calmly re- 
poses at Avenay, in Champagne. In a church guarded 
by the Fort of St. Andrew, at Salins, the relics of St. 
Anatolius are pressed in a silver shrine. St. Maimbodus 
securely sleeps in the shade of the castle rock of the 
valiant city of Montbelliard. The magnificent Cathe- 
dral of Mechlin is the tomb and monument of St. Ru- 
mold — ^prince, Bishop, martyr. 

But to come to a later period of Irish history. How 
many Irish students are laid to rest forever on the hill 
of St. Genevieve ! How many of them sleep their long 
sleep in the Franciscan Convents of Louvain and Sala- 
manca, in the Dominican garden of Madrid, and in the 
consecrated ground belonging to the Jesuits at Lisle, 
Antwerp, Tournay, St. Omer, Douay, and Pont-a-Mous- 
son. Florence Conroy sleeps near the high altar in the 
Franciscan Church of St. Anthony of Padua at Louvain; 
Thomas Stapleton's ashes are mingled with the dust of 
Belgium's most gifted sons in the chapel of St. Charles 
Borromeo ; Luke Wadding has been laid near Hugh 
O'Neil, on St. Peter's Mount. In the Cistercian monas- 
tery, at Alcala, in Spain, William Walsh, from Water - 
ford, on the Suir, lies in peace. The grand-souled and 
patriotic Bishop of Ferns, Nicholas French, passed away 
from life's toils and troubles at Ghent, in Belgium. His 



207 



venerated body was piously placed at the foot of the 
grand altar in the parish Church of St. Nicholas in that 
city. A slab of purest marble, decorated with the 
Cardinal's hat and armorial bearings, has a beautiful 
and truthful inscription in honor of his memory. Am- 
brose Wadding, brother to the famous Luke Wadding, 
calmly rests at Dillingen ; Bishop Edmond O'Dwyer, 
who governed the See of Limerick, silently lies in the 
subterranean chapel, dedicated to the Blessed Virgin, 
beneath the Church of St. James, in the city of Brus- 
sels. 

The pious pilgrim to Compostella will find in the 
world -renowned temple of St. James, Apostle of Spain, 
the holy remains of two Waterford Bishops — Thomas 
Strong, of the Diocese of Ossory, and his nephew, the 
fii'm friend of Einuccini, Thomas Walsh. The relics of 
Patrick Fleming and Matthew Hoar, martyred by the 
cruel followers of the Elector of Saxony, are treasured 
in the Franciscan convent of Wotiz, near Prague, in 
Bohemia. 

Ward, Colgan, Lombard, MacCaughwell, Edmund 
O'Reilly, and the Stanihursts, men whose names will 
ever live among the names of Ireland's most gifted and 
patriotic sons, are all in far foreign graves. The winds 
of Ireland never chant their mournful dirge around 
their tombs, the maids of Erin scatter no flowers over 
their graves, the faithful peasants never pray above 
their ashes. They fell where they had bravely fought 
with voice and pen for the land of their love. They 
died far away from the Isle of their birth, with the great 



208 



shadow of Ireland's suffering upon their breaking 
hearts. They sank to rest in the calm of silent con- 
vents, and they tranquilly rest either in the dim shades 
of old cathedrals, or in the peaceful aisles of chapels 
whose silence is never broken except by the prayer of 
some pious monk or Nun. Ah, it is a sad thing to die 
in exile. It is a sad thing to sleep in the earth far, far 
away from one's native land. But oh, it is a thousand 
times better for our noble students to rest in holy 
ground, to lie beneath holy altars and sacred pulpits, to 
rest in chapels where the Office is daily chanted, to rest 
in shrines where pilgrims ever pray, than to have their 
burned ashes scattered to the four winds of heaven by 
the sacrilegious and bloody hands of the minions of 
Henry or Elizabeth, or of the vile troopers of Cromwell. 
Though our Irish monks would naturally wish to repose 
in death at holy Lismore, at Diseart Kellach, or in 
Arran of the Saints ; though our Irish friars, when the 
shadows and dews of dissolution were upon them, 
would long for the holy earth of Multifernan or of 
Eoserilly, where Maurice O'Fihiley, Flos Mundi,ve-poses; 
still, we may easily imagine that we hear them say in 
the light and strength of their grand and glorious 
Faith : 

Care not for that, and lay us where we fall, 
Everywhere heard will be the judgment call ; 
But at God's altar, oh, remember us. 



209 



SHADOWS. 



All the earth is full of shadows, 

Shadows 'neath the palace wall, 
Shadows from the cottage fall, 
Shadows by the stately tower, 
Shadows by the lowly flower, 
Shadows on the hill and plain, 
Shadows on the lake and main, 
Shadows in the lonely glen, 
Shadows in the hearts of men. 
Shadows on the maiden's brow. 
Shadows come we know not how, — 
But the earth is full of shadows. 



MISCELLANEOUS ARTICLES, 



PROSE AND VERSE. 



By Key. Wiu^iam P. Tbea.ct. 



213 



A PEOTESTANT CEITIC IN CATHOLIC 
COUNTRIES. 



Towards the end of June, 1880, I stood beside the 
Scheldt, at Antwerp, in Belgium. I was waiting for a 
ferry-boat to take me across the river, on the other side 
of which I was to enter a train on its way to Ghent. I 
had just visited the famous picture galleries, churches, 
and oratories of the quaint old Flemish city. My mind 
was all aglow with enthusiasm ; my heart still beat with 
deep and sweet religious emotion. The paintings I had 
seen, and the altars before which I had lately knelt, and 
the mellow light that flowed in upon me through the 
oratories, had become a part of my very being, and I 
felt that they were destined to remain as a manna to 
my soul forever. I stood gazing out over the sluggish 
waters; but marble altars, and gemmed crosses, and 
whispering piety, and visions of beauty still warmed my 
imagination. I could not part with the glorious images 
revealed to me by the brush of the old masters of the 
Antwerp school of painting. I stood on the crowded 
wharf as one in a happy dream. 

But my reverie was rudely disturbed by my Belgian 
friend, who whispered to me in French — "There is a 
Protestant minister," Indeed, the sight of a parson in 
Belgium was an event important enough to deserve 



2U 



attention. I had not seen even one during all the time 
I had passed in that country. The gentleman now 
standing near me was typical. He was large and rud- 
dy, wore a high hat and high collar, a white neck-tie, 
and a glossy black surtout. 

I soon bade an affectionate farewell to my Flemish 
friend, entered the ferry-boat, and after a few minutes 
found myself seated in a train that slowly wound its 
way for Ghent. The apartments in Belgian trains run 
crosswise and form oblong rooms. I had a seat by a 
window at one side of the train, and I very quickly per- 
ceived that the Protestant clergyman had taken his seat 
by a window on the opposite side of "the box." Our 
fellow passengers were some Paysans and Paysannes; 
the former class Avearing caps and blue smock-frocks, 
and the latter attired in variegated and picturesque 
costumes. A dead silence reigned for some time. I 
began once more to revel in the luxury of thought. All 
at once I was startled by the parson's deep and solemn 
tones. I did not catch the meaning of his words, but 
the sound of his voice was awe-inspiring. What could 
he have said? I fancied that he had warned us of some 
impending evil. The sepulchral echoes of his tones 
rang in my ears. 

"Do you talk English, madam?" This time I fully 
understood him. He was addressing himself to a 
paysanne who sat near him. I was somewhat amused 
by his measured tones, and I waited with no little curi- 
osity to hear the response of the person he had address- 
ed so solemnly. She looked very much puzzled. But 



215 



lie did not seem alarmed. "Do you talk English, 
madam?" he again gravely asked. 

"Non," was the woman's laconic response. The par- 
son's face grew dark with disappointment. He muttered 
something to himself about Belgian ignorance, and 
looked out on the richly cultivated fields along the line. 
I, too, looked out of my window and noted with pride 
the prosperous condition of the most Catholic country 
on the old continent. Not a foot of ground was left 
untilled by the thrifty Flemings. No broad hedge-rows 
devoured the land. A cord, or imaginary line, divided 
the fields and farms. We rolled on through neat and 
comfortable-looking villages that rose up in the midst 
of flourishing vegetable gardens. A panorama of cross- 
es, and statuettes, and "banners of the Sacred Heart " 
passed before me. I saw in the distance the glittering 
spires of magnificent churches and cathedrals — the 
proud monuments of Catholic devotion. Here and there 
in the corners of the fields I noticed a piece of blessed 
palm which the pious peasants had religiously planted 
there the preceding Easter. "Do you talk English, 
sir?" The sombre accents of the parson were heard 
once more. 

"Non" was the answer of one of the passengers. 

As I did not care to enter into conversation just then, 
I kept looking out of the window. After a little time 
I happened to turn a glance towards the troubled par- 
son. His eyes met mine. I felt that I was caught. 

"Do you talk English, sir?" he said to me as if in 
despair. I replied in the affirmative. The light of joy 



216 



passed over his countenance. He piously raised liis 
eyes and hands, and devoutly thanked Heaven that he 
had at length found one who knew a little English. He 
arose from his seat and approached me with great cor- 
diality. We shook hands warmly, and he seemed to 
regard me as an old and valued friend. 

"I see at once, sir," said he, as he sat down beside 
me, "that you are returning from one ot the German 
Universities. I am a good judge of things, and very 
rarely make a mistake. You have been studying law or 
medicine. I should say rather medicine. You need 
not tell me your profession. I saw it at a glance. My 
name is Oswald Dobson — the Rev. Oswald Dobson.* I 
have been sent to the Continent by the Bible Society of 
London to take notes on the corruptions and abomin- 
ations of the Roman Church in these benighted coun- 
tries. In my travels through France, Belgium, Spain, 
Austria and Italy, I have collected a vast amount of 
useful information concerning the evils of Popery. On 
my return to London I intend to give a course of lect- 
ures in which I shall expose the secrets of Continental 
Papists. I assure you, sir, that I shall have the honor 
of dealing Romanism a mortal blow. 

"I feel sir," I ventured to say, "that it would be diffi- 
cult for a thorough, observant linguist to pass through 
so many countries without acquiring a vast store of 
information. But, if I am not mistaken, your knowledge 
of tongues is limited to the English. How, then, did you 



* This article is substantially true. For obvious reasons, 1 have not 
called the Protestant tourist by his real name. 



217 



manage to gather up such a fund of damaging testi- 
mony against Catholics? You will pardon my curiosity, 
as 1 cannot boast of much experience in such matters." 

"My dear sir, I see you have been long confined to 
the laboratory and dissecting-room. Why, to study the 
corruptions of the Romans, it is not necessary to learn 
their language. Actions, sir, speak to the eyes. French- 
men, Spaniards and Italians act. I kept my eyes open ; 
yes, sir, wide open, and I noted all their crimes and 
idolatry." 

"May I ask what crimes you noticed?" 

"What crimes have 1 not noticed in these priest- 
ridden countries? Why, sir, would you believe it? I 
saw crosses and images of the Virgin in almost every 
place imaginable. I saw them stuck up in the trees in 
the most solitary regions, as well as high above the 
market-places in the populous cities. And I saw men, 
women and children kneeling down and adoring them 
as idols. It is truly horrible." 

"My dear sir, if what you say be true, I am indeed 
shocked. But who told you that they were really 
adoring their crosses or statues as gods." 

"Who told me? Why, no one told me. No one had 
need to tell me. I saw them with my own eyes." 

"It seems to me that you ought to have asked them 
whether they gave divine worship to stocks and stones 
or not." 

"But those I speak of were Italians, Frenchmen and 
Spaniards. They could not speak a word of English, 



218 



and I do not know a word of their barbarous lan- 
guages." 

''Then, sir, you may be forming a rash judgment on 
Catholics. I have seen them in many countries, and I 
must say, in justice to them, that I never found even 
one of them guilty of idolatry. Their priests tell me 
that even crosses are not to be adored in the strict sense 
of the Avord, but only venerated as the symbols of salva- 
tion, as the wood on which the Saviour died." 

' ' Their priests told you so ! My dear young friend, 
beware of Popish priests. They are as crafty as ser- 
pents and as dangerous. All the evils of our times are 
fomented by the Jesuits. I may say that all the trou- 
bles of society for the past thousand years have been 
caused by the treacherous sons of Loyola." 

"Is it not too much, sir, to accuse the Jesuits of all the 
crimes of the past thousand years ?" 

"No, sir; I solemnly aver that even for the past 
fifteen hundred years they have been at the bottom of 
every revolution and every social disorder. It is a fact 
that cannot be denied even by their best friends and 
warmest advocates." 

"You forget, sir, that the Jesuits are not much above 
three centuries old. You will forgive me for calling 
your attention to an historical fact." 

"My dear young friend," said the parson, and he 
looked mysteriously at all the passengers, " the Jesuits 
have always existed either visibly or invisibly. They are to 
be found everywhere. Perhaps even in this car we are 
under their watchful eyes. Why, sir, you may shake 



219 



hands with one and not know it. You may speak for 
hours with one and not recognize in him a member of 
that dread Society. The Jesuits are truly diabolical, 
and endowed with almost more than human power." 

"Have you ever seen one of those fearful men?" I 
carelessly asked. 

" Not I, sir ; I would not look at one. I know the 
history of their bloody plots too well. I am not want- 
ing in courage, but I think I would tremble with fear if 
I was persuaded that there was one on this train. 
These are the men that teach the benighted people all 
kinds of evil-doing. These are the men that tell the 
people to pay undue honor to the bones of saints, and 
even to their old clothes." 

I was beginning to feel tired of this conversation. I 
asked myself what must the Bible Society of London be 
if this is one of its accredited agents. I thought of the 
absurdity of sending a man to study the state of Catho- 
licity on the European Continent who knows no lan- 
guage but the English. I no longer wondered at the 
ignorance of English Protestants in regard to the true 
doctrine and practice of Catholics, when all their in- 
formation was gathered from men as blind and illiterate 
as the Eev. Oswald Dobson. 

"Have you visited Waterloo?" I asked, as I was anx- 
ious to change the former topic of conversation. 

"Oh, I could not leave Belgium without doing that. 
No true Englishman could come over here without 
visiting that glorious battlefield where British arms won 
such glory. I uncovered my head as I trod that ground 



220 



that had drunk so much of our country's best blood. I 
gathered up some of the clay as a memento to be kept 
by me forever. I had even the good fortune to be able 
to purchase a nail that belonged to the shoe of the 
identical horse which "Wellington himself rode." 

I smiled as he spoke of purchasing a nail at "Water- 
loo. I had visited the famous battle-ground, and had 
heard from most reliable authority that a forge was 
kept constantly going making counterfeit " Wellington 
nails " for English visitors. 

"My dear sir/' I said gravely, "what possessed you 
to take up some of that clay of "Waterloo ? "What honor 
can you pay to a nail? If these Belgian Catholics see 
you honoring such things, may they not accuse you of 
idolatry?" 

"They accuse me of idolatry! Why, how can they 
with reason accuse me of idolatry? " 

"With the same reason that you accuse them of it. 
You cannot deny that you pay honor to nails, horse- 
shoe nails, and even to the clay they trample on daily. 
On entering the plain of Waterloo you were incautious 
enough to take off your hat. Those who saw you must 
have cried out, ^Oh, see that English idolater.' " 

"My dear sir, I know you are only jesting. I never 
said that I adored either the clay of Waterloo or the 
nail from Wellington's horse." 

"Did the Catholics ever tell you that they adored 
their pictures or statues, or that they paid Divine wor- 
ship to the cross?" 

"No, sir, they never did. It was not necessary. I 



221 



saw them do it with my own eyes." 

"Excuse me, my dear sir, but you do not seem to me 
to be altogether consistent." 

"My young friend, I tremble for your condition. I 
am afraid that the Jesuits have fascinated you. I see in 
your conversation the germ of error. I wish that I 
could be with you some time, and I would pour into 
your soul a burning fire. I would tell you much of the 
artifices of Romish priests. I would put you out of dan- 
ger. Beware, young man, beware of the deadly influ- 
ence of the Jesuits." 

"I promise you, sir, that I will do all I can to be on 
my guard against all who may lead me astray. I love 
justice, truth, and right, and hope never to abandon 
them. I would take the liberty of advising others to 
do the same. Before you speak of the Catholics to the 
London Bible Society, I would suggest that you would 
ask some Catholics whether they adore as idols pictures, 
crosses, and images." 

"I may not meet a Catholic who speaks English be- 
fore I begin my course of lectures." 

"Then I will tell you, sir, on the part of the Catholics 
spread throughout the whole world — Catholics do not 
adore pictures, or crosses, or any mere creature. They pay 
divine homage to God alone. If you dare tell an audi- 
ence in London that Catholics worship as God any 
graven thing, you will be guilty of a shameful crime, of 
, the blackest kind of slander." 

"Why this strong and exciting language, my dear 
young friend?" 



222 



"My parents are Catholics." 

"And you are?" 

"I am a Catholic, thank God, and, more over, I am 
one of those horrible Catholic priests." 

"Oh! oh!" exclaimed the parson, as if in agony. 

By this time our train arrived at Ghent. I invited my 
Protestant friend to call and see me at the Jesuit Col- 
lege, Rue Barbe. It is needless to say that he did not 
accept my invitation. 



223 
TO A SINGING BIKD BY THE SEA. 



O ! sing, O ! sing, thou sweet-voiced bird, 

Sing for the restless sea ; 
Sing for the waves that never sleep. 
Sing for the sad heart of the deep, 

O ! sing for my bark and me. 

O ! sing, O ! sing, thou joyful bird, 

Sing for the troubled sea ; 
Sing the bright isles of clustering shells. 
Sing for green rocks and sea-mossed cells, 

O ! sing for my bark and me. 

O ! sing, O ! sing, thou happy bird, 

Sing for the moaning sea ; 
Sing for the ships that leave our strand, 
Sing for the fleets that guard our land, 

O ! sing for my bark and me. 

O ! sing, O ! sing, thou gladsome bird, 

Sing for the stormy sea ; 
Sing for the maids that vigils keep 
With throbbing hearts beside the deep, 

O ! sing for my bark and me. 

O ! sing, O ! sing, thou winsome bird, 

Sing for the sad-souled sea ; 
Sing for the rocks on ocean's breast. 
Sing for the dead in graves unblest, 

O ! sing for my bark and me. 



224 



THE FISHEEMEN'S SONG. 



Our boats are filled witli their silver freight. 

Our work on the deep is done ; 
The shadows fall, for the hour is late, 
We'll steer towards the setting sun ; 
"We'll sail to our homes far in the west, 

We'll follow the golden light ; 
As the sea-birds seek, at eve, their nest, 
So we'll sail for home to-night. 
Row, fishers, row. 

Our work on the deep is done ; 
Eow, fishers, row, 
We'll sail for the setting sun. 



The sea we love when its face is bright, 

It is the fishermen's mine ; 
We plough its vales and hills of light, 

While day-glories above us shine ; 
But now that the shadows around us creep, 

We'll steer to our western home. 
We'll fly from the darkness and the deep, 
We'll fly from the blinding foam. 
Row, fishers, row, 

Our task on the deep is done : 
Row, fishers, row. 

We'll sail for the sinking sun. 



225 

All day we toiled in the heaving sea, 

Our prows to the west we turn ; 
To-night we'll rest from all dangers free, 

See Kghts in each cottage burn ; 
God bless our wdves and our daughters brave, 

For our boats they've prayed all day, 
And now we come from the stormy wave 
Their love and faith to repay. 
Row, fishers, row, 

Our toil on the sea is done ; 
Row, fishers, row, 
Row swift for the setting sun. 



226 



IKISH MONKS IN CORNWALL. 



St. Kieban ; St. Albeus ; St. Benignus ; St. Columba. 



St. KieeaNj by some writers called Piran, was born in 
the little Island of Cape Clear. His early years were 
passed amid ttie wild scenery of the northern coaSt of 
Ireland. As the son of Lugneus, a noble of Ossory, and 
Liadain a lady from Carberry, in the south of Munster, 
he had at his command every worldly pleasure and ad- 
vantage that could please or seduce the youthful mind. 
But Kieran, though a pagan, was not content with the 
things of this earth ; his noble soul yearned after some- 
thing higher, holier, more divine. He longed for the 
possession of the true light that " enlighteneth every 
man that cometh into this world." God never rejects the 
soul that seeks Him constantly, lovingly, humbly. And 
iso, we are told, that Kieran was converted to Christianity 
by the pious conversation of a Christian laic. Soon 
after, having heard that the Christian religion was most 
truly taught and faithfully practised at Rome, he left 
Ireland and travelled thither. " And there he remained," 
says Archbi-shop Usher, " twenty years, reading divine 
Scriptures, many books of which he gathered together, 
and learning ecclesiastical rules with all diligence." 
The same author asserts that Kieran was consecrated 
bishop in the Holy City. 



227 



"We know from Irish writers that Piran was for some 
time the disciple of St. Finian, Bishop of Clonard. Of 
this great man the moderate Alban Butler thus writes : 
— "Among the primitive teachers of the Irish Church 
the name of St. Finian is one of the most famous next 
to that of St. Patrick. He was a native of Leinster, was 
instructed in the elements of Christian virtue by the 
disciples of St. Patrick, and out of an ardent desire of 
making greater progress passed over into Wales, where 
he conversed with St. David, St. Gildas, and St. Cath- 
mael, three eminent British saints. After having re- 
mained thirty years in Britain, about the year 520 he 
returned into Ireland, excellently qualified by sanctity 
and sacred learning to restore the spirit of religion, 
which had begun to decay among his countrymen. 
Like a loud trumpet sounding from heaven, he roused 
the sloth and insensibility of the lukewarm, and softened 
the hearts that were most hardened, and had been long 
immersed in worldly business and pleasure. To propa- 
gate the work of God St. Finian established several 
monasteries and schools ; the chief of which was Clonard 
in Meath, which was the saint's principal residence. 
Out of his shool came several of the principal saints and 
doctors of Ireland, as Kieran the Younger, Columbkille, 
Columba, the son of Crinthain, the two Brendans, Lase- 
rian, Canicus or Kenny, Ruadan and others. 

"St. Finian was chosen and consecrated bishop of 
Clonard. The great monastery which he erected at 
Clonard was a famous seminary of sacred learning. St. 
Finian, in the love of his flock, and his zeal for their 



228 



salvatio^' equalled the Basils and the Chrysostoms, was 
infirm T^ith the infirm, and wept with those that wept. 
He heal®^ ^^^ souls, and often the bodies of those that 
applied ^^ ^i^- His food was bread and herbs, his 
drink -v'^'ater, and his bed the ground, with a stone for 
his pilP'^-" ^^ ^^y easily imagine, under such a 
master ^^^ among so many saintly companions, what 
pro^re?^ in virtue the fervent Kieran made. Of him it 
could b^ truly said that " he ran in the way of the com- 
mandm^^ts." Like a star among stars he shone. "Hav- 
ino- sp^^^ many years under St. Finian, of Clonard," 
writes "Walsh in his Ecclesiastical History, "he retired 
to a lo^^^y spot, since called Saigir, in the territory of 
Ely O'C-'^^^^^' ^^^ there erected a monastery. In a few 
years ^^.iq-ir became a city of distinction, on account of 
the nu^^^^ ^^ students that resorted to this establish- 
ment. ^^^^ people of Ossory, being attached to the 
ancienf writes of their ancestors, were not easily with- 
drawn fi'oi^ the errors of their superstition. However, 
St. Kie^'^^ preached among them with great success." 

^ll^^n Butler, in a note to his life of St. Kieran, Ab- 
bot sa-y^ • "About a mile's distance from the parish 
church ^f Kilcrogan, near the river Blackwater in the 
county ^^ Kerry, is a curious hermitage or cell, hewn 
out of the solid rock, situated on the top of a hill ; this 
cell is named St. Croghan's, who is the patron saint of 
the pa^^^^- ^^^ intelligent among the antiquaries say, 
that hy this place the celebrated St. Kieran Saigir .... 
(jQj^poSed his rule for monks ; although others say it 
was in the adjacent grotto. Be this as it may, the sta- 



229 



lactical exudations of the cell are lield in great esteem 
by the country people, who carefully preserve them, as 
imagining them to have many virtues from the supposed 
sanctity of the place they grox7 in." "His first resi- 
dence " the Protestant author of Perranzabulo says, 
"was in the heart of Ireland, in a place encompassed 
with woods and morasses, close to a lake called Fuaran; 
here he built himself a cell for his habitation, to which 
his sanctity attracted such multitudes that a town was 
at last built there, called Saigir now from the name of 
saint, commonly called Sierkeran. Here, he showed all 
concord, and subjection, and discipleship to St. Patrick, 
present or absent, and was very successful in converting 
that people." Among others he had the happiness of 
converting his mother, Liadain. The author of St. Pi- 
ran's life in Capgrave, affirms that " by the example of 
St. Patrick, St. Piran and many others inflamed with the 
Divine love forsook all worldly things and lead an 
eremitical life." In an ancient life of our saint we read, 
that on every Christmas night he was accustomed to re- 
pair to the nunnery of St. Cocchea, " that there he might 
offer up the Body of Christ." St. Kieran having zea- 
lously labored among the martial Ossorians, and having 
sanctified himself by fasts and prayers in his cell, 
resolved to leave Ireland and pass over into Brittany. 
The author of his life in Capgrave says that " St. Piran, 
calling together his disciples and the rest of the people, 
thus spoke to them : ' My Brethren and beloved children, 
it is the Divine Will that I should forsake Ireland and 
go into Cornwall, in Brittanv.'" Before Piran's time 



230 



many distinguished Iiisli saints had been in Brittany. 
"The example of St. Patrick and St. Benignus," writes 
the pious author of the Church-History of Brittany, 
"was imitated by many other Irish saints, which to en- 
joy a perfect vacancy from wordly affairs retired into 
Brittany to consecrate themselves to God in a life of 
austerity and contemplation. And in Brittany the Pro- 
vince whither they most frequently partook themselves, 
was Cornwall : In so much as Camden had just ground 
to say. — That the people of Cornwall have always home such 
a veneration for the Irish saints, which retired thither, that 
almost all the towns in that Province have been consecrated to 
their memory. There is St. Burian, dedicated to an Irish 
religious woman of that name ; to the church whereof 
King Ethelstan in the year nine hundred and thirty-six 
gave the privilege of a sanctuary. There is the town of 
St. Ives, so called from St. lia a woman of singular 
sanctity, who came thither from Ireland. There is 
St. Columb, named not from St. Columbanus, as some 
erroneously imagine, but from an Irish St. Columba. 
There is St. Mewan, St. Erben, St. Eval, St. Wenn, St. 
Endor, and many other places, all which took their 
names from Irish saints." " The first Cornish Apostle, 
of any note," writes the Rev. Collins Trelawny, "was 
Corantinus, (now called Curry), born in Brittany, who 
first preached to his own countrymen, and then to the 
Irish, till being violently expelled from that island, he 
passed over into Cornwall, and settled at last at thfe 
foot of a mountain, called Menehont, was consecrated 
bishop by St. Martin of Tours, and had the satisfaction 



231 



of converting almost the whole of Cornwall before his 
death. Scarcely was Corantinus gathered to his fathers, 
when a more celebrated man than himself landed in 
Cornwall, and from his extraordinary sanctity, acquired 
the highest reputation amongst the people. 

" This illustrious man w^as Piranus, In confirma- 
tion of his doctrine, and in testimony of his sanctity, his 
chroniclers assert that God was pleased to work great 
miracles at his hands ; and so great was his renown, that 
his cell was daily thronged with visitors from all parts of 
Ireland, whose numbers and officiousness became at 
last so intolerable to the saint, that giving out that he 
had received a divine call, and was desirous of preparing 
himself for his latter end by a more perfect retirement 
from all worldly distractions, he passed over into Corn- 
wall, taking with him his mother, and Breaca, Sininus, 
Germochus, lia, and many others, who landing at St. 
Ives, dispersed themselves over the country, and ac- 
quired great veneration among the people. Piranus 
went to the east, and settled himself in a district near 
the sea, that is now known by the name of Perranzabu- 
loe, or ' St. Piran in the Sand.' " 

"Here the holy man fixed his abode close to a spring 
of water, that still bears his name, but which was 
anciently called Fenton Berran. While ' from this well 
he drew his beverage ' he daily refreshed the multitudes 
who thronged around him with the living waters of 
eternal life, — instructed the ignorant, confirmed the 
weak and earnestly exhorted them to turn from their 
dumb idols and worship their spiritual God in spirit 



232 



and in truth. But it was not only that 'knowledge 
which maketh wise unto salvation ' that Piranus im- 
parted to them from the pure word of God ; — from the 
abundant stores of a highly cultivated mind he in- 
structed them in many of those elements of knowledge 
that are adapted to the purposes of common life — more 
especially communicating to them the art and mystery 
of working and reducing from their oxides the metals 
which abound in that neighborhood. So that, with 
good reason, the Cornish miners have always regarded 
with peculiar veneration the name of Piranus, as their 
tutelary saint and benefactor. Even at this day his 
memory is cherished throughout Cornwall, where, on 
the 5th of March, the ' tinners keep his feast, and hold 
a fair on the same day near his Church,' ' being allowed 
money to make merry withal, in honor of St. Piranus, 
their benefactor.' " 

The true apostle never thinks of his ease and comfort. 
He is carried away by the fire of zeal. He fears neither 
trials, nor persecutions, nor labors, nor sacrifices. The 
perils of the ocean cannot daunt him, the burning sands 
of the desert cannot frighten him. With bleeding feet 
he travels in search of wandering souls. St. Piran was a 
true apostle. After having left behind him his country, 
his friends, his home, he went into the wildest part of 
Cornwall to sanctify his soul, and to wage war upon the 
idols of the druids. The spot chosen by him is thus 
beautifully described by Trelawny : — " The stranger, 
who, in that joyous season, when all nature is bursting 
into life, traverses the lovely scenes of southern Devon, 



233 



and with thoughts still glowing with the recollection of 
her soft and verdant valleys, her deeply-embowered 
lanes, her meadows enamelled with a thousand flowers, 
crosses the dark waters of the Tamar, and from its 
wooded and high-towering banks, bears with him the 
further remembrance of her more romantic and sterner 
beauties — Oh, let him say, in the warmth of his recol- 
lections, as he approaches the north-western coast of 
Cornwall, how wild and cheerless is that long bleak, 
barren belt of sand that gird's the shore of Perran's 
Bay. The intervening moors, through which he has 
reached that desolate district, are of themselves, unin- 
viting to any of nature's more attractive scenery — and 
yet are they not altogether destitute of interest — the 
pui'ple heather, and the gorse's saffron blossoms, and 
the busy hum of bees, as they collect their golden 
treasure from the fragrant thyme, give life and anima- 
tion to the scene, — and many a relic of olden times, 
which still tells of Cornish prowess, or Cornish super- 
stition, employs the thoughts, and serves to invest with 
a peculiar interest those uncultivated moorlands which 
on every side terminate the prospect and almost without 
the aid of poetic fiction : — 

'immeasurably spread. 



Seem lengthening as you go. ' 

"Yet these moors, wild and interminable as they appear, 
stand out in striking relief to the sea-girt tract that 
now bounds the way. What is here to gladden the 



234 



heart of the passing stranger? Not a tuft of verdure 
refreshes his wearied sight — not a tree lifts up its 
branches to offer him friendly shade — even the gorse 
and the heather, those children of the desert, refuse 
any longer to bear him company ; he pursues his solitary 
way — waste after waste of undulating sand meets him 
at every step — and the hollow moan of the Atlantic 
waves, as they lash the distant Cligga, or suddenly 
retire from the adjacent shore, falls in sounds respon- 
sive to the wildness of the place. All nature wears a 
garment of sadness. The very birds of heaven avoid 
the spot, and the sea-mews, soaring on high, scream 
pitiously over their region of desolation, and with hasty 
wings betake themselves to the rocks and the waves, as 
less wild and less unfriendly. The stranger passes on 
— he quickens his steps — and with anxious gaze looks 
forward to the termination of this tedious way. But a 
tract, if possible still more forbidding, rises before him 
with increasing barrenness. A succession of sand hills, 
varying in their elevation, enclose him on every side, 
and by intercepting his view of the sea in some parts, 
casting their dark shadows on it in others, stamp on 
every quarter the character of more than ordinary lonH- 
nes and melancholy. Yet it is a spot full of the deepest 
interest — a solitude of the most heart-stirring recol- 
lections. Oh, stranger, whoever thou art, ' put off they 
shoes from thy feet — thou treadest on holy ground,' — 
thou standest over a sacred memorial of bygone days.'^ 
Yes, stranger, thou standest on holy ground, for here 
hundreds of years ago St. Piran and his monks wept. 



235 



and prayed, and fasted, and offered up the holiest of all 
sacrifices — the sacrifice of the Mass. History, "and 
popular tradition, confirmed by antiquarian research, 
has long pointed to Perranzabuloe, as the site and 
sepulchre of an ancient British Church, founded at a 
very remote period, flourishing for a succession of ages 
in the midst of a very fertile district, and dispensing to 
a rude but religious people tJie blessings of Christianity, 
in its simplest form of primitive purity. At that distant 
day, the northern boundary of the extensive Hundred 
of Pydar yielded to none other in Cornwall, either in 
the fertility of its soil, or the abundance of its produce. 
Alas, how has 'the fruitful place become a wilderness' 
and 'the pleasant portion a desolation.' " The burning 
zeal, the fervent charity, the humility, the meekness, 
and the life of perpetual sacrifice led by the holy monk 
Piran, helped to convert thousands of the druids, and 
endeared him to all. Nothing is so lovely or so lovable 
as virtue. No wondei that those adorned with it are bo 
esteemed, and so venerated, even by the wicked them- 
selves. After his death the Cornish people still cherished 
the pious memory of Piran, " and immediately erected, 
with their own hands, a church inscribed with his name, 
and dedicated to the service of that pure religion which 

he so faithfully taught There ' the incense ' of 

prayer, and ' the pure offering ' of praise, were daily 
lifted to that Name which akeady was great among the 
heathen ; and there the flame which Piran had enkindled 
in the hearts of the Cornishmen, biu-nt brightly and 
steadily for many successive generations. 



236 



" The church of St. Piran, thus erected .... became 
the resort of Christian worshippers from all parts of the 
world, and took a conspicuous lead in diJBfusing the 
light of pure religion, throughout the country. The 
Britons had already become as highly distinguished for 
the purity and simplicity of their faith as they had been 
before for their blind superstition and barbarous 
idolatry. ' How often in Britain,' says Chrysostom, who 
lived in the fourth century, ' did men eat the flesh of 
their own kind. Now they refresh their souls with fast- 
ings.' And St. Jerome, writing about the same time, 
with a more direct reference to Cornwall, ' the Britons 
who live apart from our world, if they go on a pilgrim- 
age, will leave the western parts, and seek Jerusalem, 
known to them by fame only and by the Scriptures.'" 

The church erected to the memory of St. Piran, at 
Perranzabuloe, like all the churches of that early period, 
was built in the simplest style. It was, however, in 
some respects superior to many of them ; in this, at 
least, that in place of being formed of wattles, it was 
of solid stone. For centuries it was hidden away from 
human sight by the mountains of sand which were 
heaped over it by the wild winds that swept through 
Cornwall. It did not become plainly visible till as late 
as the year 1835. 

Trelawny, speaking of the benefits St. Piran conferred 
upon the inhabitants, says: "A benefactor he was in 
truth to the souls and bodies of thousands whose igno- 
rance he enlightened, whose faith he strengthened, and 
among whom he left a pure, simple, unadulterated form 



237 



of Christian worship." Again he says justly that the 
venerable monk could, "in the decline of years, trium- 
phantly point to the success of his missionary labours." 

The author of St. Piran's life, in Capgrave, says that 
"he was one of the first twelve bishops that St. Patrick 
consecrated." Some authors tell us that he preached in 
Ireland before the arrival of its great apostle. We are 
assured by others that on his way from Rome he met 
St. Patrick, and that great was the joy of both. Cam- 
den calls Piran " a holy man, who came from Ireland." 

"Writers tell us that St. Piran, knowing that his end 
was drawing near, called around him his disciples, and 
having spoken beautifully to them of the things that 
are of God, he ordered his grave to be dug, and then 
" he went down into it on the third of the nones of May, 
and there rendered up his soul to God, which with great 
glory was received into heaven." 

Even before the time that St. Kieran preached in Corn- 
wall, St. Albeus and St. Benignus, with tongues of fire, 
called upon the paople of Britany to tear down their 
idols, to turn away from the worship of the sun, to 
abandon their false belief in cataracts and storms, and 
rushing rivers, and to erect altars to the true God. 
St. Albeus was converted by some Britons, and in order 
to show his gratitude towards them used his great elo- 
quence in preaching for some time, to their pagan 
countrymen. It is stated that he was in Rome before 
St. Patrick had set foot on the Irish shore. " After his 
return home," writes Butler, " he became the disciple and 
fellow-laborer of that great apostle of his country, and 



238 



being ordained by him first Archbishop of Munster, 
fixed his seat at Emely which has been long since 
changed to Cashel. "With such a commanding author- 
ity did this apostolic man deliver the dictates of eter- 
nal wisdom, to the people of Ireland ; such was the 
force with which, both by words and example, he set 
forth the sanctity of the divine law, and so evident were 
the miracles with which he confirmed the heavenly 
truths which he preached, that the sacred doctrine easily 
made its way to the hearts of his hearers^ and he not 
only brought over an incredible multitude to the faith 
of Christ, but infused into many the perfect spirit of the 
gospel, possessing a wonderful art of making them not 
only Christians but saints. King Engus having be- 
stowed on him the isle of Arran, he founded in it a great 
monastery, which was so famous for the sanctity of its 
inhabitants, that from them the island was long called 
Arran of Saints. The rule which St. Albeus drew up 
for them is still extant in old Irish, as Usher testifies. 
Though zeal for the divine honor, and charity for the 
souls of others, fixed him in the world, he was always 
careful, by habitual recollection, and frequent retreats 
to nourish in his own soul the pure love of heavenly 
things, and to live always in a very familiar and intimate 
acquaintance with himself, and in the daily habitual 
practice of the most perfect interior virtues. In his old 
age it was his earnest desire to commit to others the 
care of his beloved flock, that he might be allowed to 
prepare himself in the exercises of holy solitude for his 
great change. For this purpose he begged that he 



239 



might be suffered to retire to Thule, the remotest 
country toward the northern pole that was known to 
the ancients which seems to have been Shetland, or, 
according to some, Iceland, or some part of Greenland ; 
but the king guarded the ports to prevent his flight, 
and the Saint died amidst the labors of his charge, in 
525, as the Ulster and Innisf alien annals testify." 

Though St. Albeus (Ailbe) was retained in Ireland by 
the pious king Engus, still twenty-two of his monks 
were allowed to continue their journey, in order to 
enlighten the unhappy children of the North. Oh, who 
can tell the greatness, or the length and depth of the 
trials and sufferings of that heroic band of missionaries 
while, far from their own mild climate, and the peaceful 
shades of their monastery, they labored in cold and 
hunger, among a cruel and barbarous people. 

''St. Ailbe," writes Father Walsh, "lived under the 
pious king Engus, and having erected his cathedral on 
a convenient site, which that prince had presented, he 
soon after laid the foundation of a monastery and col- 
lege, in which human and heavenly sciences were taught 
gratuitously, and to which students from all parts of 
Europe resorted. Among the number of eminent per- 
sons who received their education under Ailbe, are 
reckoned Colman of Dromore, and Nessan of Mungret. 
St. Ailbe justly revered for his piety and sanctity, was 
looked upon as another St. Patrick, and a second patron 
of Munster. He is deservedly ranked among the fathers 
of the Irish Church." 

" During the incumbency of St. Ailbe," continues the 



240 



learned author just quoted, " a synod was held at Cashel, 
attended also by the king and chiefs of the Desii. 
St. Declan, of Ardmore, was present. Many valuable 
decrees regarding morals and ecclesiastical discipline 
were enacted." 

The laborious Cressy, the Benedictine monk, after 
having spoken of Bachianus, who, though a Briton, was 
a disciple of St. Patrick, thus writes : " Another holy 
bishop and disciple of St. Patrick challenges once more 
a commemoration in this History (The Church-History 
of Brittany), to wit St. Albeus, in whose life extant in 
Bishop Usher we read, that when he heard that St. Pat- 
rick had converted to Our Lord, Engus king of Munster, 
and was with him in the royal city of Cashel, he came 
to salute them. Now the king and St. Patrick much 
rejoyced at the arrival of St. Albeus, whose joy 
to see them also was great. There the holy man rever- 
ently entertained his master, St. Patrick, for he was 
very humble. After this king Engus and St. Patrick 
ordained that the Archiepiscopall See of all Munster 
should for ever be placed in the Citty and chair of 
St. Albeus." 

It is very probable that St. Albeus was baptized by 
the illustrious British saint, Kebius, who is said to have 
spent some time under St. Hilary. The following pas- 
sage from the pen of the great Protestant Usher may be 
read with interest — it refers to the baptism of Ailbe : 
" Lachanus gave the Holy Child to certain Britains, who 
brought him upp with great care, giving him the name 
of Albeus, because he was found alive under a rock, and 



241 



the Grace of God was with him. After these things 
there came thither a certain Brittish Priest, sent by the 
See Apostolick into Ireland, many years before St. 
Patrick, to sow the Faith of Christ there. But the Irish- 
men being pagans, would not receive him, nor believe 
his Doctrine, except a few. He came then to the in- 
habitants of Munster, where he found the Holy child 
Albeus praying in the open air with his eyes raised 
up to heaven, that the true Faith might be revealed 
to him and saying, My desire is to know the Creator 
of all things, and to believe in him who made heaven 
and earth and all creatures in them ; For I know that 
the elements were not made without a skillfull Work- 
man, neither could any man produce these things. 
When the holy child had thus prayed, the said Priest 
who overheard him, saluted him and according to his 
heart's desire instructed him in all things: which having 
done he baptised him, continuing the same name of 
Albeus to him." 

Bishop Usher also tells us that St. Albeus, whi^e at 
Rome, " was instructed in the knowledge of the Holy 
Scriptures by St. Hilary," the famous Bishop of Poitiers. 

The name of St. David, bishop of Menevia, is 
one of the most illustrious, is one of the most 
venerated, in the annals of Britany. Thirty years 
before his birth St. Patrick is said to have foretold 
David's coming, and his greatness in learning and 
sanctity. An Angel revealed to Ireland's Apostle the 
future glory of the famous British saint. In allusion to 
St. Patrick's prophesy we read in the CoVect of the 



242 



ancient church of Sarum the following words, which 
are repeated yearly on St. David's Feast : " O, God, who 
by an Angell didst foretell the Nativity of thy Blessed 
Confessor, Saint David, thirty years before he was born ; 
Grant unto us, we beseech thee, that celebrating his 
memory, we may by his intercession attain to joyes 
everlasting." 

Though Giraldus Cambrensis assures us that St. Da- 
vid was baptized by an Irish Bishop called Keleveus 
still the author of "The Church-History Of Brittainj^ 
Under Brittish Kings," says that this undoubtedly is a 
mistake, and that the honor of having baptized David 
belongs to St. Albeus, Bishop of Munster. 

St. Benignus, who also labored in Britany, was very 
much like the gentle St. Francis of Sales. He had a 
winning grace about him that gained the hearts of all 
who came in contact with him. There was nothing 
repulsive in his austerity, nothing disagreeable in his 
fervent piety. He moved like an angel among men and 
showed in his whole conduct how sweet and pleasant 
are the ways of sanctity, how beautiful and charming 
are those souls that are adorned with interior grace. 
Those who beheld him were forced to acknowledge that 
the yoke of the Lord was light and sweet. About the 
year 465 he succeeded St. Patrick in the See of Armagh. 
He was long the constant companion and the favorite 
disciple of that saint. " Benignus," writes Father Walsh, 
" was the son of Sesgnen, a chieftain of Meath. On his 
conversion and baptism he received from his kind pre- 
ceptor the name Benignus, as it was expressive of his 



243 



mild disposition and good qualities. Instructed b}^ our 
apostle in learning and religion, he became eminent 
in piety and virtue, and though not yet a priest he was 
entrusted with the care of remote places, and so great 
were his services to religion that he was considered a 
second apostle. Like his master he foresaw the ap- 
proach of his end. Having sent for Jarlath, he received 
the body of the Lord. His soul departed to eternal 
rest on the 9th November, A. D, 468." 

The Church of Drumlias, in the barony of Drumahare, 
and bordering on Lake Gille is said to have been founded 
by St. Patrick, who placed Benignus over it. It is 
recorded that a pagan fortress was bestowed on St. 
Patrick and Benignus, by Lughaid, lord of the country 
near Tuam, Co. Galway. At this place a church was 
erected called Killbannon. In John Colgan's " Acts of 
the Irish Saints," we read of a church called Temple 
Benain, or the temple of St. Benignus. 

" As for St. Patrick's Successor," writes Cressy, " he 
also after seven years spent in care of his province, 
thirsting after solitude, and willing to see again his 
most beloved Master, came to Glastonbury, desirous to 
receive from him a most perfect Rule of Monastical 
Profession. This he did, saith Malmsburiensis, by the 
admonition of an Angel. And being come thither he 
demanded of St. Patrick what place he should make 
choice of to live in Union with God alone, divided from 
liuman society. The Answer given him by St. Patrick, 
who encouraged him to persist in his present purpose, 
is thus recorded by Adam of Domerham: Benignus, 



244 



saith he, discovered to St. Patrick the motives of his 
journey; who exhorted him to pursue happily his well 
begun purpose, saying, Goe, my beloved brother, taking 
only your staff with you. And when you shall be ar- 
rived at the place appointed b}^ God for your repose, 
wheresoever having fix'd your staff in the ground, you 
shall see it flourish and grow green, there know that 
you must make your abode. Thus both of them being 
comforted in our Lord with mutuall discourses, Saint 
Benignus being accompanied only by a youth nam'd 
Pencius, begun his journey through woody and marish 
places. But as soon as he was arriv'd in an Island 
where he saw a solitary place, which he judg'd fit for 
his habitation, he presently fixed his staff in the ground^ 
which without delay wonderfully grew green, and 
brought forth fresh leaves. There, therefore. Saint 
Benignus resolv'd to abide to his death in the service 
of God alone. And to this day the same Tree, the wit- 
ness and sign of his Sanctity, remains flourishing with 
green boughs, near the Oratory of the blessed man." 

"The same Authour (Adam of Domerham) further 
proceeds to declare how by another miracle God testi- 
fled that the Holy man's watchings, fastings, and pra}^- 
ers with other austerityes were acceptable to him. 
Although, saith he, that solitary place separated from 
worldly conversation was very opportune and proper 
for attending to God and Divine things: Yet one in- 
commodity it had, that there was no water near : So that 
young Pincius was compelled every day to fetch water 
almost three miles off, whence it came to passe that 



245 



partly througe weariness, but princix3ally through sug- 
gestion of malignant Spirits he grew disheartened, which 
the Holy man perceiving oftimes endeavoured to com- 
fort and encourage him. At last taking compassion of 
his labours, he prostrating himself on the ground, 
humbly and heartily besought our Lord to open for his 
servant a spring of water, which might sufficiently 
supply his necessities. After which admonish'd by an 
Angelicall vision he gave his staff to young Pincius, 
commanding him to a certain place full of reeds, and 
there striking the ground with his staff, he should with- 
out doubt find water, so earnestly desired by them. 
The child obeyd, went to the j)lace, and in the name of 
the Blessed Trinity he struck the ground three times, 
making three holes in it with the end of his staff; which 
he had no sooner done, but immediately a fountain 
gush'd forth; from whence to this day a brook, and that 
no small one, is supplied, which is both good for fish- 
ing, and healthfull likewise for many infirmities. The 
same narration is likewise to be found in John the 
Monk, and the summ of it in Capgrave; who calls the 
Island in which St. Benignus liv'd, by the name of Fer- 
ramere. Bishop Usher in confirmation of this revelation 
made by our Brittish Historians, touching St. Benignus' 
coming into Britany, collects likewise from ancient Irish 
"Writers that the same Holy Bishop four years before his 
death relinquishd his Archiepiscopall See of Armagh." 
Cressy also tells us that six hundred and thirty years 
after the death of our saint his sacred body was trans- 
lated to Glastonbury, by the direction and care of 



246 



Thurstin, tlien Abbott, the ceremonies and solemnity of 
which Translation are to be read in the Antiquities of 
that famous Monastery. 

We gather from the " Antiquities of Glastonbury and 
Malmsburiensis " that " the venerable Bishop St. Patrick 
preaching the Gospell through several provinces of Ire- 
land came to a plain call'd Brey (or Berg :) which was 
very spacious and beautiful. With which being delight- 
ed, he determined there to celebrate the Feast of Easter 
then at hand. His first acquaintance and familiarity in 
that Province was with a certain man, who having heard 
his Doctrin presently believed, and receiving the Sacra- 
ment of Baptism was changed into a new man. With 
him St. Patrick lodged. This man had a young child 
call'd Beonna, who bore a tender affection to St. Patrick, 
so that he would oft play with him sometimes kissing 
his foot, which he would presse to his breast. Where- 
upon St. Patrick with a propheticall eye, perceiving the 
great Graces which the Divine bounty would confer 
upon the child, gave him the name of Benignus. A 
while after when the Holy Bishop was ready to take his 
journey, the child with pittifull cryes begd that he 
would not forsake him, saying that if he forsook him he 
would dye. He was therefore forc'd to receive him into 
his waggon, and withall prophecied that he should be 
his h.ejr and successor to the Bishoprick." 

The meeting of St. Columkill and the famous St. 
Kintigern is thus described by Cressy; "Whilst St. 
Kintigern lived among the Picts, St. Columba (called by 
the English Columkill) hearing at his Monastery in the 



247 



Island of Hy the fame of this holy Bishop, came with a 
great troop of his disciples to visit him; and was mett 
by him with a like multitude, which they divided on 
both sides into three companies, the first of young men, 
the second such as were of perfect age, and the third 
venerable old men; all which in the way towards one 
another sung spirituall songs. And when St. Columba 
came in sight of the Bishop, turning himself to his 
Disciples he said, ' I see a pillar of fire as it were a 
golden crown in the third quire descending upon the 
Bishop and casting a celestial splendour about him.' 
Then the two Holy men approaching to one another 
with great fervor of affection gave and receiv'd mutuall 
kisses and embraces." 

St. Columba who preferred the monk's cowl to the 
king's diadem, is justly regarded as one of the greatest 
of the patriarchs of the monastic oder in Ireland. He 
is also appropriately called the Apostle of the Picts. " To 
distinguish him from other saints of the same name," 
writes Butler, " he was surnamed Columkille, from the 
great number of monastic cells, called by the Irish, 
Killes, of which he was the founder. He was of most 
noble extraction from Neil, and was born at Gartan, in 
the county of Tyrconnel, in 521. He learned from his 
childhood that there is nothing great, nothing worth 
our esteem or pursuit which does not advance the divine 
love in our souls, to which he totally devoted himself 
with an entire disengagement of his heart from the 
world and in perfect purity of mind and body. He 
learned the divine scriptures, and the lessons of an 



248 



ascetic life under the liol}^ bishop St. Finian, in his great 
school of Cluain-iraird. Being advanced to the order 
of tlie priesthood in 546, he began to give admirable 
lessons of piety and sacred learning, and in a short time 
formed many disciples. He founded about the year 
550, the great monastery of Dair-Magh, now called 
Durrogh, which original name signifies ' Field of Oaks,' 
and besides many smaller, those of Doire or Derry in 
Ulster, and of Sord or Swords, about six miles from 
Dublin. St. Columba composed a rule, which, as Usher, 
Tanner, and Sir James Ware inform us, is still extant in 
the old Ii'ish. This rule he settled in the hundred 
monasteries which he founded in Ireland and Scotland. 
It was chiefly borrowed from the ancient oriental insti- 
tutes, as the inquisitive Sir Roger Twisden notes of all 
the British and Ii'ish monastic orders. 

" King Dermot or Demetrius, being offended at the 
zeal of St. Columba, in reproving public vices, the holy 
man left his native country, and passed into North- 
Britain, now called Scotland. He took along with him 
twelve disciples and arrived there according to Bede, 
in the year of Christ 565, the ninth of the reign of 
Bridius, the son of Meilochon, the most powerful king 
of the Picts; which nation the saint converted from 
idolatry to the faith of Christ by his preaching, virtues 
and miracles. But this we are to understand of the 
Northern Picts and the Highlanders, separated from the 
others by Mount Grampus, the highest part of which is 
called Drum-Albin; for Bede tells us in the same place 
that the southern Picts had receive^ the faith long be- 



249 



fore by the preaching of St. Ninyas, the first bishop of 
"Whithern in Galloway; .... 

"The Picts having embraced the faith, gave St. 
Columba the little island of Hy or lona, called from him 
Y-colm-kille, twelve miles from the land, in which he 
built the great monastery which was for several ages 
the chief seminary of North-Britaui, and continued long 
the burying place of the Kings of Scotland, with the 
bodies of innumerable Saints, which rested in that place. 
Out of this nursery St. Columba tounded several other 
monasteries in Scotland. In the same school were edu- 
cated the holy bishops Aidon, Finian and Colman, who 
converted to the faith, the English Northumbers. This 
great monastery several ages afterwards embraced the 
rule of St. Bennet. 

"St. Columba's manner of living was always most 
austere. He lay on the bare floor, with a stone for his 
pillow, and never interrupted his fast. Yet his devotion 
was neither morose nor severe. His countenance always 
appeared wonderfully cheerful, and bespoke to all that 
beheld him, the constant interior serenity of his holy 
soul, and the unspeakable joy with which it overflowed 
from the presence of the Holy Ghost. Such was his 
fervour, that in whatever he did, he seemed to exceed 
the strength of man; and as much as in him lay, he 
strove to suffer no moment of his precious time, to pass 
without employing it for the honor of God, principally 
either in praying, reading, writing or preaching. His 
incomparable mildness and charity towards all men, and 
on all occasions, won the hearts of all w^ho conversed 



250 



with him, and his virtues, miracles, and extraordinary 
gift of prophecy, commanded the veneration of all ranks 
of men. He was of such authority, that neither king or 
people did anything without his consent. When King 
Aedham, or Aidanus, succeeded to his cousin Conall in 
the throne of British Scotland, in 574, he received the 
royal insignia from St. Columba. Four years before he 
died, St. Columba was favoured with a vision of angels 
which left him in many tears, because he learned from 
those heavenly messengers, that God, moved by the 
prayers of the British and Scottish churches, would 
prolong his exile on earth yet four years. Having con- 
tinued his labours in Scotland thirty-four years, he 
clearly and openly foretold his death, and on Saturday, 
the ninth of June, said to his disciple Diermit : ' This 
day is called the Sabbath, that is day of rest, and such 
will it truly be to me; for it will put an end to my 
labours.' He was the first in the church at Matins at 
midnight; but knelt before the altar, received the Viati- 
cum, and having given his blessing to his spiritual 
children, sweetly slept in the Lord, in the year 597, the 
seventy-seventh of his age. His body was buried in this 
island, but some ages after removed to Down in Ulster, 
and laid in one vault with the remains of St. Patrick 
and St. Brigit. The great monastery of Durrogh in 
King's County, afterwards embraced the rule of the 
Canons Eegular, as did also the houses founded by St. 
Brendan, St. Comgal, etc. He was honoured both in. 
Ireland and Scotland, among the principal patrons of 
those countries, and is commemorated in the Koman 



251 



martyrology on tlie ninth of June, but in some calendars 
on the seventh, which seems to have been the day of 
his death." 

"Columba," writes the Duke of Argyll, "was little 
inclined to melancholy as soon as he had once sur- 
mounted the great sorrow of his life, which was his 
exile: little disposed even, save towards the end, to con- 
templation or solitude, but trained by prayer and 
austerities to triumphs of self-sacrifice; despising rest, 
untiring in mental and manual toil; born for eloquence, 
and gifted with a voice so penetrating and sonorous 
that it was thought of afterwards as one of the most 
miraculous gifts that he had received of God; frank and 
loyal, original and powerful in his words as in his 
actions — in cloister and mission and parliament, on land 
and on sea, in Ireland as in Scotland, always swayed by 
the love of God and of his neighbor, whom it was his. 
will and pleasure to serve with an impassioned upright- 
ness. Such was Columba. Besides the monk and mis- 
sionary there was in him the makings of a sailor, soldier, 
poet and orator. To us, looking back, he appears a 
personage as singular as he is lovable; in whom, through 
all the mists of the past and all the crosslights of 
legend, the man may still be recognized under the saint 
— a man capable and worthy of the supreme honour of 
holiness, since he knew how to subdue his inclinations, 
his weakness, his instincts, and his passions, and to 
transform them into docile and invincible weapons for 
the salvation of souls and the glory of God." 



252 



LINES ON FINDING A SINGING BIKD 
DEAD IN THE SNOW. 



Wliat a fount of joy, of rapture, 

Was tliis -wood-born child of song ! 
Like a smile or ray of sunshine, 

Through the air he passed along ; 
All the Summer he was making 

Verses wild, yet sweet of flow ; 
Ah ! how sad to see his plumage 

Flying with the flakes of snow. 

Priest and bard would come to listen 

To his thrilling matin lay, 
And the bard would sit all dreamy, 

And the priest kneel down to pray ; 
Hear the winds above him sighing ! 

Do they whisper of his woe ? 
Like a bunch of bleeding roses 

Now he lies upon the snow. 

Ah ! no more we'll see him building 

Happy homes of down and moss ; 
Ah ! no more we'll hear him chanting 

On the chapel's golden cross ; 
In the earth rich seeds are hidden. 

Flowers will come in Summer's glow ; 
But our garden will be lonely, 

For its bard sleeps in the snow. 



253 



KIND HEARTS. 



Kind hearts are found in every land, 

And noble souls in court and cot, 
Our race is one fraternal band, 

Though strange our fortunes and our lot ; 
A pilgrim's life my life has been, 

I've met stout Teutons and gay Franks , 
And friendship true I've always seen 

Upon the Ehine and fair Seine's banks. 

Beneath Canadian pines I've slept, 

When winter came in robes of snow, 
And though for home I nightly wept, 

Kind words oft came to chase my woe ; 
The woodmen welcomed me with joy, 

And made me share their frugal fare ; 
They bade me be once more a boy. 

And cast away my look of care. 

The Belgians sang for me their songs. 

They heard my songs with tearful eyes ; 
The brave Poles told me of their wrongs, 

And Romans told me of their skies : 
For every land true love I feel, 

Oh, every land was kind to me ; 
Hear Nature speak— a thunder-peal — 

"True men are men where'er they be." 



254 



AN ODE TO ST. ISIDORE. 



(St. Isidore, Patron of Madrid, -vvaCs an humble laborer "^vho sanctified liim- 
self in the midst of his daily toils. While his hand guided the plough, his 
heart communed with God and Ilis holy Angels. The various aspects of nat- 
ure gave him continual food for divine contemplation.) 



Wake not the golden stringed lyres, 

Let their rich music sleep ; 
Be still, be still, ye human choirs, 

Ye lutes a silence keep ; 
For birds of snowy wing and breast, 

And scented winds among the trees, 
And wells that in deep valleys rest, 

And sunlit streams that gild the leas, 
"Will claim their right for evermore 
To sing of pure-soul'd Isidore. 



There comes a Toice from hidden lakes, 

Softer than Summer's breeze, 
There swells a hum by lonely brakes, 

Like music on the seas. 
The tempest-breath shakes mountain-peak, 

And 'mong the rocks makes melody ; 
The birds through all the forests speak 

In tones of richest harmony ; 
And all in measured numbers pour 
The praises of St. Isidore. 



255 

Teach us, meek Saint, we humbly pray.. 

The Lord in all to yiew, 
His steps to trace in meadows gay, 

And in the heavens blue ; 
To read His Beauty in each flower 

That we espy in cultured dell, 
To know what is the awful power 

That bound the vale by rocky fell ; 
May all in Nature we explore 
Xiead us to God and Isidore. 



256 



I KOAM A LAND OF GOLDEN DKEAMS. 



I. 



I roam a land of golden dreams, 

By soft, green groves, and waterfalls ; 

I roam through meads, by soundless streams, 

And see far-off fair city walls ; 

Dear Land of Sleep, how calm art thou. 

How peaceful are thy silent dells — 

But hark, what sounds are coming now ? 

They are ! they are ! the matin bells. 

! matin bells. 
No sound excels 
Your music sweet in waking dells. 



II. 



I kneel with saints for ages dead, 
The angels play for me their lyres, 
In Paradise I seem to tread, 
Around me stand celestial choirs ; 
Mute Isle of Sleep, how still art thou, 
How tranquil are thy voiceless dells — 
But hark, what sounds come rushing now ? 
They are ! they are ! the matin bells. 

! matin beUs, 
No sound excels 
Your music sweet in waking dells. 



257 

in. 

The stars have faded from the sky ; 

Ah ! with the stars my dreams must part ; 

With night my fairest visions fly, 

With day will come old pain of heart. 

Yet welcome be the hour of light, 

With Light young Truth forever dwells ; 

Grim darkness fears the morning's sight — 

King in loved scenes, glad matin bells ! 

Sweet matin bells. 
No sound excels 
Your music rich in waking dells. 



I'LL TELL MY BEADS. 



I'll tell my beads when my heart is sad, 
And my sorrows will fly away ; 
Full well I know that each bead has power 
All the floods of woe to stay. 

For it lifts me up, and bears me far 
O'er the highest hills men see. 
It lifts me above the farthest star, 
To the Throne of Queen Mary. 

'Tis a golden link that binds my heart 
To the heart of my fair Queen ; 
'Tis a precious gem I would not part 
For all that the eye hath seen. 



258 



BE NOT AFEAID. 



Sad soul, sad soul, 

Be not afraid ; 
Thy cross was made, 

Thy burden weighed, 
By Hands that bled for thee ; 

Sad soul, sad soul, 
Be not afraid. 



Poor soul, poor soul, 

Be not afraid ; 
Sweet Jesus knows 

Thy ills and woes, 
And deeply pities thee ; 

Poor soul, poor soul, 
Be not afraid. 



Faint heart, faint heart, 

Be not afraid ; 
Lo, angels come 

To lead thee Home, 
And take thy load from thee ; 

Faint heart, faint heart, 
Be not afraid. 



259 
HOLY SPIKIT, COME AND GUIDE ]ME. 



Holy Spirit, come and guide me, 
For Thy Light I daily pine ; 

All around i^ dark and gloomy, 
L3t Thy Rays upon me shine. 

II. 

From my soul dispel all shadows, 
From my heart now banish care ; 

Teach me how to bear my crosses, 
Give me sweetness in my prayer. 

III. 

Speak to me of Heaven's beautifes, 
Tell me of Thy Sinless Land ; 

Lead me up that Holy Mountain 
Where but Purified may stand. 

IV. 

Lead me o'er the paths of virtue, 
Keep me far from shame and sin ; 

Give me peace in holy actions, 
Drive from me all strife and din. 



V. 



Show the vainness of false pleasures, 
Show how fleeting are man's days. 

Show that Thou alone canst give me 
Force to walk through stainless ways. 



260 



THE LAST VICTIM OF ELIZABETH'S KEIGN IN 

IKELAND. 

BR. DOIVIINICK COLLINS, S. J. 

Now therefore, O my sons, 'be ye zealous for the law, and give your lives for 
me covenant of your faihers. i Mac, Chap, ii, v. l. 



On a bright summer's evening, a young noble, gaily 
attired, attended by a large number of friends and 
servants, rode up to the gates of the Jesuit Novitiate at 
Compostella, the capital of Gallicia, in Spain. He had 
just made a pilgrimage to the tomb of St. James, in that 
city, and now came to seek admittance among the lay- 
Brother novices of the Society of Jesus. After bidding 
farewell to his friends and retinue, he dismounted and 
entered the Novitiate. 

The Rector and a few of the Fathers came to the par- 
lor to see him, and welcome him. They little dreamed 
that he was coming to ask for a place among the hum- 
blest of their novices. They all well knew that the gay 
young officer before them was born of noble and illustri- 
ous parents in L'eland, that he had served with distinc- 
tion in fighting against the heretical, enemies of the 
Most Christian King, and that he was now high in the 
favor of King Philip, in whose army he had held, during 
eight years, a rank suitable to his birth and services. 
When he had made known his determination to enter 



261 



religion, the Bector frankly said to liim: "I fear, sir, 
that you are not a fit subject for our poor Novitiate. 
Here you will have to cast aside all earthly pomp and 
pride. Here you will have to lead a life of mortification, 
obedience, and humiliation." 

" Fear not to receive me, Rev. Father. I am prepared 
to suffer all things for the love of Jesus Christ, my Cap- 
tain and my King. As a soldier I am accustomed to 
obey, and to feel the want of many things. In the past 
I have sought for empty glory; let me now learn to 
humble myself." The earnestness of the young officer 
prevailed on the Rector to receive him into his house. 

O'Callan, for this was the young man's name, was 
placed among the lay-Brothers as his humility had de- 
sired. Before he had yet received the habit of the 
Society a violent infectious disorder broke out in the 
College. He immediately proved his courage and zeal in 
attending the sick, and showed by the performance of the 
most humiliating offices, that he was worthy of a place 
among the sons of St. Ignatius. After he had made his 
novitiate, and taken his religious vows he was given as 
a companion to Father John Archer, who was to accom- 
pany the Spanish fleet, which was about to be sent by 
Philip to aid the Irish Catholics in freeing themselves 
from slavery and persecution. The tyranny of Elizabeth, 
and the barbarity and insolence of her brutal soldiers 
and servants in Ireland, had roused the Irish chiefs to 
action. Hugh O'Neill and Hugh O'Donel had kept the 
Bed Hand and the Banner of Tyrconnel proudly flying 
in defiance of the hosts that England could send to tear 



262 



them down. After O'Neill's splendid victory over Bagnal 
at the fort of Blackwater, in Tyrone, a thrill of joy went 
through the heart of not only every Irishman at home, 
but also through the heart of every true Irishman on 
the Continent, whether his place was in the professorial 
chair at Salamanca, in a convent in Italy, or in a gay 
camp in France. 

Nothing was more agreeable to the patriotic heart of 
O'Callan — in the future we will call him Collins^ the 
name he assumed on entering religion — than to go and 
give spiritual aid and consolation to the kerns who were 
fighting under the banners of Ireland for their country,, 
their altars, their homes, their lives. 

With all the generous feelings of a soldier, and all the 
zeal of a fervent religious, Dominick Collins went on 
board one of the Spanish ships. During the voyage he 
faithfully attended the sick sailors day and night. All 
the time he could spare from his arduous duties he 
spent in prayer and meditation. As he drew near the 
Irish coast how his heart throbbed, as he thought of 
once again beholding the hills and vales of his dear 
native shore. He watched with an anxious eye to catch 
the first glimpse of the land of his love, the Isle of his- 
dreams, the cherished home of his forefathers. He 
looked over the blue waters, he looked far off into the 
distance, — 

*' 'Till a faint grey line 
Bose in the Northern sky ; so faint, so pale, 
Only the heart that loves her would divine 
In her dim welcome all that fancy paints 
Of the green glory on the Isle of saints." 



263 



Soon after his arrival in Ireland, Dominick was taken 
prisoner by the heretics, in the fort of Beerhaven. 
" Contrary to the law of nations, and in violation of their 
pledges, he alone was put in chains; for the besiegers 
had guaranteed the safety of all the besieged on con- 
dition of the castle being surrendered to them, and had 
given the most solemn pledges to this effect to Dominick 
himself, who had been the pacificator and the messenger 
of the besieged. But they seemed to consider that to 
have seized a Jesuit was a vindication of every breach 
of faith and perjury. His hands were tied behind his 
back, and he was brought to Cork by a troop of soldiers, 
where he was thrown into the common prison. He lay 
here three months, till the time of the assizes for the 
trial of all criminals, when he was tried." 

On the day of his trial Brother Collins appeared in 
court dressed in the habit and mantle of the Spanish 
sons of St. Ignatius. Mountjoy, Viceroy of Ireland, 
grew angry at the sight of the clerical dress, and de- 
manded why he dared appear before him in that most 
odious costume. 

"I have dared to come before you in this habit, be- 
cause I have no reason to be ashamed of it. It is the 
habit of St. Ignatius, of St. Francis Borgia, and of St. 
Francis Xavier. I glory in it in life, and I hope it will 
be my only winding sheet in death." 

"You seem," said Mountjoy, "to have a good deal of 
courage. If you will only renounce your vain religion 
and enter into the army of our good Queen, Elizabeth, 



264 



I will obtain for you both rank and fortune, and I 
promise you my unchanging friendship." 

" I have fought," said Brother Dominick with warmth, 
"under the glorious banners of the kings of France and 
Spain ; I now fight under the banner of Ignatius, and 
think you, that I would dishonor my name, insult my 
country, deny my religion, and humble my Order, by 
apostacy from the Faith, by drawing the sword in the 
cause of the cruel, heartless irreligious Elizabeth? 
Away with your fortune, your rank, your false friend- 
ship. From my soul I scorn them." 

Mountjoy grew enraged at these noble words. He 
ordered the Brother to undergo all kinds of the most 
cruel torture. For several days preceding his execution 
he was left to the mercy of brutal soldiers, who did all 
they could to make him suffer. But all they could do 
could not shake his constancy, disturb his patience, or 
destroy the holy joy and peace of his soul. The heretics, 
being, at length, provoked by his great serenity and 
courage, hastened the day of his death. 

"On the last day of October, 1602." says Tanner, "at 
the dawn, having no respect for the day, which was 
Sunday, they led him out to execution, with his hands 
tied behind his back and a halter round his neck. He 
walked calmly along, with his eyes raised to heaven and 
his mind fixed on God, refiecting on Christ bearing His 
cross. When he arrived at the foot of the gallows, he 
fell on his knees and kissed it, commending his passage 
to God." 



265 



He then prayed for his poor bleeding country, and 
for his enemies. After that he mounted the ladder with 
as proud and happy a mean as ever he wore in climbing 
up the side of a conquered fortification in the Nether- 
lands. What a picture of heroism, of grandeur, of 
fervor, is that of Dominick Collins, standing on the top- 
most step of the dread ladder, robed in his religious 
habit, and addressing burning words to his Catholic 
countrymen. O, how precious is the Faith for which 
Collins is about to die. Listen, O, listen, children of 
Ireland, to the dying words of this hero, and treasure 
them up in your heart of hearts: "Look up," he said, 
** to heaven, and, worthy descendants of your ancestors, 
who ever constantly professed it, hold fast to that Faith 
for which I am about to die." 

There was a stir among the crowd. The heart of the 
multitude was touched. Many eyes were wet with tears 
as men and women thought of the high birth, the rank, 
the fortune, the fame, the piety, the courage, the zeal 
of the speaker. The mass began to heave to and fro. 
There were murmurs, and looks that foretold the strong 
rising of an indignant populace. "The officers, per- 
ceiving this," continues Tanner, " to prevent any further 
effect on the crowd, ordered him to be thrown off the 
ladder. Nor was he allowed to hang long on the gal- 
lows; for, while yet breathing, and palpitating, the 
executioner, in punishment of his constant profession of 
his religion, cut open his breast, and, taking out his 
heart, held it up to the people, uttering the usual ' God 
save the Queen.' Thus this last victim to God in Ire- 



266 



land in her reign preceded the queen, guilty of so much 
innocent blood, to the Judgment seat of God. On the 
following night, the Catholics collected his mangled 
limbs with great pity, and consigned them to the earth 
in a chapel not far from where he suffered." 



EOME. 



"But Rome in all her glory is a grave." 

Schiller. 



"With Eome The Spirit dwells forever, 
Her soul is Truth — that's life and light ; 
Against God's Arm is man's endeavor 
To sink her deep in death and night. 
No more are pagan splendors burning, 
No Gaesar sits upon her throne, 
No more, her ships with slaves returning 
By all the winds of heaven are blown. 
But Papal Eome with life is gleaming, 
She is Earth's Lamp amid its gloom, 
Who styles her grave is idly dreaming, — 
She'll light the Nations to their tomb. 



267 



THE HOLY VIATICUM. 



In Catholic countries on tlie Continent the Holy Viaticum is carried to the 
sick under a rich canopy in solemn procession. The bells of the church give 
notice to the public ; the priest vested in his holy robes, is accompanied by 
acolytes bearing lighted torches ; one rings constantly a little bell to admonisli 
the people that Jesus is passing by, and crowds of the faithful, especially 
members of the confraternity of the Blessed Sacrament, join the procession 
and carry lights.— TTie Dove of the Tabernacle. 



"Waves of holy sound are floating 
Through the vesper, Belgian dell : 

"See ! the Priest is bearing Jesus," 
Sweetly sings the silver bell. 

Eays of gold fall down from heaven, 
Crowning acolytes and Priest ; 

"Wells of lillies pure are springing 
Up to cheer the Last, Grand Feast. 

Eoses line the pathway, sighing 
As the Saviour passes by ; 

* Neath the grass the violets humble 
Strive to meet their Maker's Eye. 

Peasants kneel, with burning tapers, 
Burning hearts, and loving eyes ; 

"Mercy, Jesus, on the dying — 
Mercy Thou dost highly prize !" 



268 

Lo ! the cot, so poor and lowly, 
Where a parting child doth dwell ; 

** Comfort, dear one, here is Jesus," 
Softly sings the silver bell. 

Jesus loves the simple cottage, 
Where no pride can ever be ; 

There He thinks of His dear Mother, 
And his home in Galilee ! 

''^ Welcome, Jesus! Welcome, Master! 
Cleanse my heart, " the sick boy sighs, 
* 'Jesus, Jesus, I adore Thee," — 
Brea4;hes the child in Paradise ! 



269 
OUE LADY OF SORROW. 



Dense the gloom of all creation — 

On the blackest spot of all 
Is a lonely Virgin's station, 

Weeping o'er man's deepest fall. 

Dead is Jesus, and His Mother 

Is abandoned on the Hill ; 
Men have slain their God, their Brother, 

Now their mother's cup they fill. 

In the city Jews are boasting 
Of the crime that stains to-day, 

Horror, they are vainly toasting ; — 
"Pilate," *' Herod," "great are they !" 

Dead is Jesus, thou art sighing, 

Mother of the Tender Heart, 
Thou art weary, thou art dying. 

Sad is now thy doleful part. 

Mother dearest, Virgin tearful, 
"Will no mortals watch with thee ? 

Are the sons of Adam fearful 

Of the Cross — their Saving Tree? 

In the darkness, full of sadness. 

May I on the Hill be seen ; 
There I'll hate all sinful madness — ■ 

There I'll love my King and Queen. 

Mary weeping, Jesus bleeding, 

Ever will be dear to me ; 
Sighing, moaning, warmly pleading, 

May I stand on Calvary ! 



270 



THE WOKLD. 



' Tis vain to seek for bliss below — 
The ancient curse will ever burn ; 

Our earth is but the nurse of woe — 
"Who seeks true joys, to God must turn, 

Our gardens bear each hateful weed, 
"While all around the briers bloom ; 

From Paradise no blissful seed 
Was blown afar to Adam's tomb. 

There is no stone on earth to build 
A house where drossless joys abide ; 

There is no gold with power to gild 
A peaceful home for human pride. 

The world is but a stagnant lake, 
Keflecting lovely shores and skies ; 

Its dazzling stillness dare to break, 
And lo ! what foulness in it lies. 



271 



COME, AND SEE THE CAPITOL. 



\ 



Oh, come and see tlie Capitol, 

'Tis white as daisies an the lea ; 
Oh, come and see the Capitol, 

'Tis white as foam upon the sea : 
'Tis Uke a dream-built palace, 

All beautiful and bright : 
'Tis like a gleaming iceberg 

Crowned with the stars of night. 

Oh, come and see the Capitol, 

'Tis like a hill of snow, 
Oh, come and see the Capitol 

"With the moonlight all aglow ; 
'Tis like a magic castle 

Or a lilly centuries old, 
'Tis like a fairy mansion 

With its windows lit with gold 

Oh, come and see the Capitol, 

And its goddess — Liberty ; 
Oh, come and see the Capitol, 

And remember thou art free, 
And thank the God of Battles, 

"Whose right arm blessed the brave, 
And pray the God of Nations, 

Our Fatherland to save. 



272 



TO AUBEEY DE VEEE. 



Thou art, chaste bard, like that sweet bird — 
By heavenly longings strongly stirred — 
That soars to be the better heard 

By watchers on the tower and hill. 

Thou singest not for groveling men, 
For those who walk life's lowly glen, 
For dwellers on the plain or fen, 

But watchers on the tower and hill. 

Thy hand's a wand of light and fire 
That touches not thy lofty lyre. 
Save to awake some grand desire 

In watchers on the tower and hill. 

We daily hear thy noble song, 

Which heaven and earth love to prolong. 

Not from the base, inglorious throng, 

But watchers on the tower and hill. 

Chaste as the stars of chastest flame 
Is the chaste light of thy chaste fame ; 
Thy songs have souls ; they'll keep thy name 
'Mid watchers on the tower and hill. 



273 
A SOUL IN SIN. 



It was God's temple years ago, 

Behold it now ; 
With love and faith it once did glow^ 

Behold it now ; 
Its altar was the Spirit's throne, 
Its incense rose to Him alone, 
With praises rang its every stone,— 
Behold it now. 

In ruin lies this temple fair,— 

A thing of shame ; 
It breathes no more of holy prayer,— 

This place of shame ; 
Its hymn of love is heard no more, 
No angels flock here to adore, 
The serpent's slime is on its floor,— 
Dark place of shame 



274 

THE BAED. 



The bard is like a timid bird 
That's seldom seen but ofttimes heard 
Singing sweet and gladsome strains ; 
Singing in the pines and briers, 
Kindling Nature's bardic fires, 
Waking all the woodland choirs, 
And the songs upon the plains. 



n. 



The bard is like a linnet gray 
That sings his time and life away, 
Cheering lonely hours and days ; 
Cheering with his fount of song 
Pilgrims as they pass along. 
Cheering e'en the heedless throng 
Passing o'er life's busy ways. 

in. 

The bard is like an angel bright 
That speaks to man, both day and night, 
Calling him to higher things ; 
Calling him from mart and street, 
Where a thousand passions meet, 
Calling him to God's own Feet, 
And the board of kingly kings. 



275 



DOMINICUS DE ROSAKIO. 



HIS ACCOUNT OF THE SIEGE OF CASHEL, AND THE DEATH OF 

FATHEK BAHRY. 

On a certain day, in the year 1656, a Dominican priest 
was walking up and down his Uttle cell, in his humble 
and poor convent in the street Eua Nova de Almada, 
Xiisbon, telling his long black beads. He was a fine 
picture to look upon, with his noble and venerable 
figure, his immaculate white robe, and his fair and 
pleasant face. He did not look like a prisoner in his 
narrow room, but like a man on a mountain-peak breath- 
ing fresh, pure air, and surrounded with the glories of 
skies not far above his head. And so he was on a moun- 
tain-top, for was he not on "the bright mountain of 
Prayer." 

This Dominican who was telling his beads, was a true 
religious, a great literary man, and honored by kings 
and queens; at the time of which we write he was one 
of the confessors of the queen of Portugal. He was an 
humble man, as may be proved from the fact that he 
refused the archbishoprics of Braga and Goa. 

Not far from the Dominican convent stood the palace 
of the duke of Braganza, John IV, of Portugal. While 
Father Dominicus was praying, the king and his ad- 
Tisers were consulting together concerning the fittest 



276 



man to be sent as ambassador to the court of Louis XTV. 
Portugal bad then many distinguished and noble states- 
men and diplomatists. Who shall be chosen from among 
them? The king and council unanimously agreed that 
Father Dominicus de Rosario should represent Portugal 
at the court of France. The humble Dominican on 
learning the extraordinary honor conferred upon him, 
and the great responsibility of the office, endeavored to 
have some one else chosen in his place. But the king 
would not yield to his entreaties, and so he had to leave 
the peaceful little convent of Lisbon and depart for the 
French Court. 

The court of Louis XIY. is famous in history' as the 
model of " politesse," of good taste, and of magnificence. 
Louis himself was an able, prudent king, and has been 
justly styled — The Great. His place in the world's 
estimation is with Charlemagne and Clovis. He was 
"great in peace and war." He had the happy faculty 
of discerning talent, and the better gift of rewarding it. 
He exalted himself, strengthened his throne, and glori- 
fied his reign and his country, by the favor he showed 
men of genius. He had in his army a Conde, a Turenne, 
a Luxembourg, a Crequi, a Catinat, and a Villars; he 
had in his cabinet a Colbert, and a Louvois; Boileau 
and Eacine wrote his history; Bossuet and Fenelon in- 
structed his children; Flechier, Bourdaloue and Mas- 
sillon instructed himself. To such a king and to such 
a court was Father Dominicus sent. But he was well 
qualified to appear before any king or any court. He 
had long been the intimate of nobles, and of Philip IV., 



277 



of Spain. He had associated with profound and bril- 
liant scholars and ecclesiastics in Lugo, in Gallicia, at 
Burgos in old Castile, in Louvain, and in Lisbon. 

Dominicus was received by the king and his court in 
a manner suitable to the representative of a sovereign. 
Louis was soon charmed with the modesty, prudence, 
learning, and piety of the gifted son of St. Dominic. 
And the Dominican agreed with the opinion of all that 
Louis was the greatest and most amiable monarch of 
his time. A sympathy soon sprang up between them 
which helped to render the monk's embassy an entire 
success. Life at court was distasteful to Father Do- 
minicus, and, as it is also to us, we will not here dwell 
upon his receptions by Louis, nor his negotiations in 
the king's cabinet, but will follow him to the Dominican 
Convent, Saint Jacques, at Paris, and steal in upon him 
during the hours of recreation so that we may hear 
some of his conversation. 

As the convent of Saint Jaques was a "House of Gen- 
eral Studies " for the Dominicans, it had students from 
different countries of Europe. Lreland, then forbidden 
the advantages of education, had several of her devoted 
sons studying in this venerable establishment. 

Soon after the arrival of Father Dominicus the Lrish 
students requested their superior to grant them per- 
mission to pass some time in recreation with him. The 
superior kindly consented to their request. 

Without permission, dear reader, I will lead you into 
the presence of the illustrious Portuguese ambassador 
and introduce you to him. Perhaps, you are afraid that 



278 



he speaks only the French of Louis XIY., or the strange 
tongue of Portugal. Be not alarmed, Father Dominicus 
de Rosario, or Daniel O'Daly, has a sweet Kerry accent, 
and was a pupil of the Convent of the Holy Cross, 
Tralee. He is gifted with a royal Irish heart and head» 
Neither in the convent, nor in the court, has he lost the 
warmth and generosity that belong to the sons of Ire- 
land. He is still the same Daniel O'Daly as when he 
chased the red deer on his native hills of Kerry. 

"Welcome, welcome, a thousand welcomes," the old 
priest exclaimed, as the young Irish Dominicans entered 
the recreation-room. " Come to my heart, children of 
Erin, children of the sorrowful, yet ever glorious Isle. 
How it gladdens my heart to meet you, future apostles, 
future martyrs, for the land and faith that I love." 

The old man wept as he embraced his young breth- 
ren in the Lord. 

After all had been seated for some time, and had re- 
joiced and sorrowed, and sorrowed and rejoiced over 
the news from Ireland, one of the students, a fit repre- 
sentative of old Tipperary, asked Father O'Daly to give 
himself and his companions a full account of the glori- 
ous martyrdom of Father Richard Barry. 

"Ah, poor Father Barry," said Father O'Daly in a low 
and tender voice, as he heard the name of his martyred 
brother-priest mentioned, " it was my part to write an 
account of his sad but sublime death. Oh, cruel laws 
that command the deaths of holy priests, and the dese- 
cration of sacred things. Ah, my brothers, pray day 
and night for our afflicted country. Pray that God may 



279 



raise us up a Moses who will lead our unhappy people 
out of the darkness of slavery and persecution into the 
light of freedom and peace. You cannot now carry a 
sword to smite our country's oppressors, but you have 
a beads by your side which has more virtue than a 
thousand swords. But do you all wish me to read for 
you an account of the sufferings and death of the prior 
of Cashel." 

All wished to hear the story of Father Barry's death. 
Did they not all wish to die like him? Did not all these 
white-robed youths long to shed their blood for the 
glory of their comntry and their God. How martyrs 
died was a subject near and dear to them. 

Father O'Daly had to go to his cell for his manuscripts, 
but he soon returned to the recreation-room, which was 
now as solemn as a tomb. 

"It is necessary, my dear brothers," began Father 
O'Daly, "to give you a short sketch of some events 
which preceded the mardyrdom of Father Barry. 

"The apostate Earl of Inchiquin, in 1647, made an 
attack upon ' Cashel of the King.' The old town, badly 
fortified, was easily taken, and its streets soon ran red 
with the blood of its Catholic inhabitants. The garrison, 
with the priests and religious, and many of the citizens 
retired to the Cathedral Church, which was seated on 
the summit of the famous Eock of Cashel. Nobly did 
the little band of soldiers repel the assault of the in- 
furiated enemy. In vain did the apostate followers of 
Inchiquin strive to force their way into the Cathedral; 
back they were driven, and many a one of them rolled 



280 



down the side of the Rock, leaving tracks of blood along 
his way. 

"At length Inchiquin suspended the deadly fight, 
and sent an officer to treat with the bold leader of the 
garrison. ' The Earl of Inchiquin,' began the enemy's 
officer, as he stood face to face with the heroic defender 
of the Rock, * has sent me to treat with you, and to de- 
mand a surrender.' 'What are the conditions upon 
which Inchiquin demands a surrender ? ' asked the 
Catholic soldier, proudly. 

*He grants you, and your fellow-soldiers, permission 
to depart with your arms, ammunition, and all the 
honors of war.' 

' Are these all the conditions ? ' 

' No, he demands that you abandon the citizens and 
clergy to his mercy.' 

' Enough, enough,' cried the generous Catholic Cap- 
tain, ' you have come here to insult me, and my garrison. 
Go back to the renegade Inchiquin, and tell him that 
we, true Irishmen and soldiers, can never listen to such 
base terms. Tell him, moreover, that we would sooner, 
a thousand times sooner, consecrate our lives to God on 
this glorious Rock of St. Patrick, than see its holy 
sanctuary profaned by dogs.' 

" Back the officer went to Inchiquin, and the assault 
was immediately renewed with redoubled ferocity. 

" My brothers, it is useless to dwell upon the devoted- 
ness and heroism of the garrison; the enemy being 
7000, and the defenders of the seat of the Monarchs of 
Munster, the defenders of the temple of the Living God, 



281 



being only 300, the Rock was taken and desecrated, 
and the altar-steps were empurpled with the blood of 
children and women, of gallant soldiers and holy religi- 
ous. So great was the slaughter that the aisles of the 
Cathedral were blocked up with the corpses of the slain. 

" Among the martyred was Father Boyton, a fervent 
religious of the Society of Jesus. This brave priest 
during the fierce combat thought only of saving souls. 
The enemy finding him in the act of administering the 
last Sacraments to a dying soldier slew him with the 
Adorable Host in his hand. 

"The cruel heretics slew the women who clung to the 
statue of St. Patrick. They beheaded, as for treason, 
the great crucifix which stood at the entrance of the 
choir, and hewed off its hands and feet. Then were 
torn in shreds the pictures of the saintly monks, and 
kings of Ireland. The sacred vessels were broken, the 
precious vestments were cast on the floor for carpeting, 
or worn by drunken soldiers in the streets of the town; 
the altars were overturned and the Puritan leader with 
the archiepiscopal mitre on his head, and the crozier of 
the great Saint-King, Cormac, in his hand, had the folly 
and the audacity to boast that he was not only governor 
and lieutenant of Munster, but also Archbishop of 
Cashel." 

Here Father O'Daly paused to wipe away a tear that 
dimmed his eye. The eyes of his hearers were also 
dimmed by tears, and their hearts beat wildly as they 
thought of the wrongs of their country, and the insults 
heaped upon their holy religion 



282 



" My dear brothers," continued Father O'Daly, " I am 
now come to the sad, but glorious death of Father 
Barry. 

" TVTien the Puritans gained possession of the Rock, 
they found Father Barry robed in his Dominican habit, 
and holding a sword in his hand. The colonel, who led 
the assault, was favorably struck by the grave and noble 
appearance of the Father, and said to him: — 'I see you 
are a brave man, and I promise you safety if you will 
cast off that dress which we hate.' 

' My dress,' said Father Barry, firmly, ' is the emblem 
of Christ and His passion, and the banner of my war- 
fare. I have borne it from my youth, and will not put 
it off in death.' 

' Monk, be more careful of yourself,' said the colonel, 
sternly. ' If you fear not to die, you shall soon have 
your way; but if you desire to live, cast away that 
traitor's dress.' 'Never,' said the father, warmly, 'shall 
I cast aside my holy habit. And here to your face, I 
tell you, that this habit is not the dress of traitors, or 
cowards, but of true men, and good, who know how to 
die for their country and creed.' 

'Hold sir,' cried the enraged colonel, 'if you foolishly 
look for martyrdom, we will soon satisfy your desire.' 

' Since so excellent an occasion is offered me,' said 
Father Barry, ' of showing my love for Him who suffered 
on the Cross for me, I must not lose it. To suffer for 
my devotion to my country is my joy, and to die for my 
holy religion is my gain. I fear neither you, nor Inchi- 
quin, nor your band of Puritan vipers.' 



283 



"This answer provoked the colonel so much, that he 
immediately handed the brave Father over to his brutal 
soldiers, who struck him, and spat upon him. They 
then tied him to a chair and applied a slow fire for 
about two hours, from the soles of his feet to his thighs. 
At length the blood bubbled forth from all his pores. 
Throughout this cruel torture the Father showed the 
courage and patience of a Christian hero. The officer,, 
growing weary of the heroic, though sad spectacle, 
ordered an end to be put to the sufferer's life by a. 
thrust of the sword. Father Barry died with his gaze 
fixed on heaven. 

"After the heretics had evacuated Cashel and its 
Cathedral, the vicar-general called together the few 
surviving priests and people, who, together with the 
notary apostolic, Henry O'CuUenan, formed a proces- 
sion, and carried the body of the glorious Dominican to 
a convent of his order, where, having sung the Te Deum,. 
they laid it down to holy rest." 

Just as Father O'Daly had finished the last sentence, 
the bells of the convent tolled, and all the young Do- 
minicans retired to their different cells in silence. 

Father O'Daly, who never lost his first religious 
fervor, also instantly retired to his little cell, full of sad- 
ness at the thought that as cruel a fate as Father 
Barry's awaited many of his young Irish brethren who 
were to sleep happily that night under the roof of Saint 
Jacques. 



284 



SWEET NIGHT. 



Sweet night thy calm is on my soul, 
I feel thee on my spirit grow ; 

Thy stars, like visions, o'er me roll, 
Thy dews, like grace, around me flow. 

So fair is darkness in thy train, 
That she can soothe the babe to sleep ; 

O ! why should sorrow, guilt, or pain, 
With thy soft shadows ever creep ? 

Ah ! why shouldst thou the mother be 
Of crimes that fear the light of day? 

Thou bringest thoughts of God to me, 
Thy grandeur helps my heart to pray. 



285 
UP, UP, AND MOUNT FOR EVEEMORE. 



I. 



The birds that leave the clear blue skies 
To feed upon 
Earth's carrion, 

Though plumed like angels, I despise. 



II. 



A burning star I would not be, 

If in my glow 

Base thoughts should flow 
To earth, and its impurity. 



m. 



I am not made of common clay; 

Man's clay was found 
In Eden's ground, 

And not upon the king's highway. 



IV. 



Proud soul, spread out they wings, and soar; 
Thou art no clod, 
Fair type of God, 

Up, up, and mount for evermore. 



286 
I AM WEAKY OF THE CITY. 



I. 

I am weary of the city, 
Weary of its strife and din, 
Weary of its pains and pleasures, 
Weary of its works of sin, 
And I sigh for deep, green meadows 
In whose depths the skylarks nest, 
And I bless that dear, good valley 
Where in youth I found sweet rest. 

II. 

I am weary of the city — 
Though I came bright fame to win — 
And my heart is dark with sorrow, 
And my soul grows sick within ; 
How I long for singing woodlands, 
And for homesteads free from care, 
How I long for that old hamlet 
Where we hailed the Night by prayer. 

in. 

I am weary of the city, 
'Tis the selfish work of man, 
And a dark cloud hangs above it, 
Xiike a dismal pall, or ban ; 
So I pace its streets full weary. 
And I weep amid its blaze, 
And I grieve that I am severed 
I'rom loved Nature's dew-bright ways. 



287 



IN THE COUNTRY. 



Once more in the green, wavy meadows, 
Once more 'neath a sky, broad, — blue, 
Once more by tbe gold-sanded streamlets, 
And hedge-rows of flowers and dew ; 
Once more I sit 'mid snow daisies, 
With hearts of the purest gold, 
Once more and I leave life's shadows 
To live in the days of old. 

Again I am fanned by the breezes 
That rifle the sweet, wild flowers, 
Again I am drinking the music 
That flows from the bird-loved bowers ; 
Again I kneel down in our chapel 
And join with our village choir, 
And my heart grows warm and tender, 
And my soul soars higher and higher. 

How grand are Thy "Works, dear Master,— 
The dark green chain of high hills, 
How fair are Thy Works, loved Father, — 
The vales, and the lakes, and rills; 
O ! vain are the world's false sages 
Who tell us Thou art not near, 
O ! blind are the foolish dreamers, 
Who see not Thy foot-prints here. 



288 
MATEE INVIOLATA. 



I stood in thought beside a circling sea, 

Whose waters were more clear than morning light ; 

More calm than those that first met Adam's sight, 

More beautiful than those of earth can be ; 

No slimy weed, nor jagged stone nor tree, 

Was ever mirrored in those waters bright ; 

But there I saw deep golden rays that might 

Shine in the court of the Divinity ; 

'Twas thy pure soul, O Mary, kind and sweet, 

That came to cheer my heart and glad mine eyes — 

For in thy soul so calm, so pure, so mild, 

The piercing gaze of God could never meet- — 

As there, alone, the Sun of Justice lies — 

A thing of earth, or aught by earth defiled. 



289 



OH, THUS THE BARDS. 



Enthroned among the dark-green pines 
By no one seen, the linnet sings ; 
Enthroned among the lone, dark pines 
The linnet's voice now clearly rings ; 
He recks not who may hear his songs ; 
He recks not though they be not heard, 
He sings of loves, and joys, and wrongs, 
He sings for self, the happy bird. 

The shepherd on the lonely hills. 
At eventide pours forth his strains ; 
He pipes of meads, and flocks, and rills 
And hamlets on the flowery plains ; 
He dreams not, that deep in the vale, 
The toilers pause to hear his voice, 
He dreams not that his sweet notes sail 
Far off, to make sad hearts rejoice. 

Oh, thus the bards in their charmed cells, 
Think of their lyres and not of men ; 
Oh, thus the bards in their hidden cells 
Forget the workers in life's glen ; 
They sing their songs to please themselves. 
And not to please the world's dull ear ; 
They sing their songs to soothe their souls, 
Not dreaming of the listeners near. 



290 



ON SMILES. 



A smile is the light from our souls, 

'Tis the sunshine that leaps from our hearts, 
O'er the sea of the world it shines, 

And the calmness of heaven imparts. 

Oh, keep the old smiles fair and bright, 
They can cheer thy sad brothers in wos ; 

We heed not the darkness of night, 
While we see thy red lips all aglow. 

A smile is a fountain of bliss, 

'Tis a gem in our Innocence set ; 
Oh, 'twere sweet, in a world like this, 

If our smiles we should never forget. 



291 



WHAT IS LOVE? 



Xiove is an angel, my child, 

With pinions of golden light ; 
Love is an angel, my child, 

Beautiful, pure, and bright ; 
And she dwells with God in the skies, 

And she dwells in the hearts of men. 
And she shines in each maiden's eyes — 

You'll meet her, but I know not when. 

Xiove is an angel, my child. 

Tender, and kind, and fair ; 
Love is an angel, my child, 

Sweet as our garden air ; 
And she leads us the Passion Way, . 

The Way that Our Lord hath trod, 
And she helps us to watch and pray — 

For Love is the Spirit of God. 



292 



YEA, LOED, THOU KNOWEST THAT I LOVE 

THEE. 



(ST. JOHN, XXI. 15.) 



I. 



Thou knowest, Master, that laj heart is Thine, 
Proud, weak, and sinful, though it be ; 
Thy Sacred Heart forever must be mine — 
I'll live in Thee, and Thou in me. 



II. 



My chosen One art Thou, O ! Spotless Dove ; 
For Thee I've longed, and wept, and sighed ; 
When can I meet Thee, Whom my soul doth love ? 
Why from mine eyes Thy beauty hide ? 



ni. 



0! haste, sweet Lord, possess my throbbing hearty 
Or give me wings to seek Thy sky ; 
It seems to me that I have Mary's part, 
I burn with love, of love I die. 



IV. 



Thou art my paradise, 0! purest Lord, 
Thy name brings peace and joy to me ; 
In loving Thee I find a sweet reward, 
0! what a bliss Thy fair face to see. 



293 



V. 



Thy sorrows flood my heart with bitter grief, 
Thy tears to me seem never dry ; 
In weeping o'er my sins I find relief, 
If tears come not, I know I'd die. 



VI. 



No more I'll waste my love on fading flowers, 
No more I'll love earth's cup of dross ; 
In thoughts of Thee alone I'll spend my hours, 
Sole treasure now for me — Thy Cross. 



vn. 



Kind Master, Thou canst read my inmost soul- 
Look far beyond my selfish love, 
Look not upon my passions outward roll, 
And Thou wilt see in Whom I move. 



vm. 



How sad it is to love, and still not show 
That love is master in the heart ; 
How sad it is to wander to and fro, 
And from one's Love still live apart. 



IX. 



Through all my life I've loved my Holy Love, 
Yet from His side how oft I stray ; 
O! how I sigh for that fair land above, 
Where on His Breast I'll rest alway. 



294 



O.UE LADY OF MONTAIGU. 



A FAITHFUL mSTORY OF THE CELEBRATED SHRINE OF OUR LADY 
AT MONTAIGU, BELGIUM. 

I take occasion now to declare, in obedience to the 
decree of Pope Urban Vm. that all I am about to 
narrate rests upon merely human authority. I am far 
from proposing any of the wonders that I may recount 
as articles of our holy and divine faith. 

MONTAIGU THE EARLY HISTORY OF THE MIRACULOUS STATUE. 

Montaigu is a pleasant little Flemish village, which 
crowns the summit of a small round hill in Brabant. It 
is situated at a distance of about one mile from Sichem, 
three from Diest, fifteen from Louvain, and thirty from 
Brussels. The sight of its ponderous old sign-posts, 
with their grotesque figures and high sounding inscrip- 
tions, is well calculated to produce an agreeable impres- 
sion upon the weary traveller. The grandeur of its 
noble Church, the solidity of its ancient buildings, and 
the ample dimensions of its chimney-stacks, lend it an 
air of comfort not found in many of our more modern 
and delicately framed hamlets. To a visitor altogether 
ignorant of its history, Montaigu would be a difficult 



295 



riddle. He could never account for the relatively vast 
number of its hotels; he could never dream why almost 
half the town is engaged in selling crosses, rosaries and 
religious engravings. The thousands of men and 
women from Germany, Holland and Belgium that would 
pass around him with slow pace and solemn looks would 
perplex him. 

"Why," he would ask, "this prayerful throng? Why 
are the very children in the streets so silent and recol- 
lected? What is this deep mystery that surrounds me? 
I really never saw anything like this before. Am I at 
Lourdes or Loretto ? " 

"No," he would be kindly answered, "you are not at 
Lourdes, nor Loretto ; you are at the celebrated shrine 
of Our Lady of Montaigu." 

Montaigu is very different now from what it was four 
centuries ago. At that time it shared with all Belgium 
the horrors of cruel war. To add to its misery, the 
forests that surrounded it were infested by robbers and 
lawless men of every description. Its poor inhabitants 
passed their days in laborious toil and constant fears. 
Their nights were often so many lonely hours of vigil. 
The cross never comes without accompanying grace. 
Sorrow is a gift of Heaven. So in their utter distress 
the afllicted villagers turned their eyes towards Grod. 
But, feeling their own unworthiness, they wished for a 
powerful intercessor. To whom should they turn if not 
to the Mother of the afflicted, to Mary the Refuge of 
sinners? They turned to Mary, and humbly besought 
her to pray to her divine Son for them. "Show forth 



296 



thy power, O Mary," tliey cried; "bring us peace and 
consolation." 

In order that they might be the more entitled to her 
guardianship, one of them placed a little statue in her 
honor upon the trunk of a wide-spreading oak which 
stood near the middle of the village. Henceforth Mary's 
power and goodness were felt in Montaigu. The great 
Queen of Heaven seemed to have set her throne of 
mercy upon the humble Flemish hill. Wonderful favors 
were bestowed upon all who prayed in the shadow of the 
oak. The blind came, and the light of heaven beamed 
before their eyes ; the lame were carried thither, and 
they went away leaping for joy ; hearts wounded with 
grief were healed after the recital of one Hail Mary : 
souls steeped in sin passed by and they repented of 
their crimes. At these wonders the inhabitants of Diest, 
Sichem, and all the neighboring towns flocked with 
enthusiasm around the miraculous image. Thus the 
pilgrimage was begun. 

A SHEPHERD ATTEMPTS TO STEAL THE STATUE. 

A simple shepherd who tended his master's flocks upon 
the wooded slopes around Montaigu resolved to take 
the wonderful image to his cabin and there to honor it 
it in private. With this intent he one day approached 
the oak, and, seizing the statue, quickly hid it in his 
bosom. Immediately the poor fellow lost the power of 
his limbs. To his horror, he found his feet fastened to 
the ground. The Immaculate Virgin, who had chosen 



297 



the precise spot in which she should be honored, thus 
plainly showed her desires. Hour after hour passed 
slowly away, and still the unfortunate herdsman felt 
himself tied to the earth. As night was coming on, his 
master became uneasy about him, and determined to go 
in search of him. After much trouble, to his astonish- 
ment, he found the wretch at the foot of the old oak. 
The shepherd, with great simplicity, told his master all 
that had passed. They both replaced the statue on the 
tree, and went their way talking of the mii-acle which 
had happened. 

THE STATUE MmACULOUSLY SWEATS BLOOD. 

Mary's life on earth was a sorrowful one. The long 
red sword of Simeon was never fully drawn from her 
heart. But now her sufferings are over. The Queen of 
Martyrs is now the Queen of Angels. If Mary could 
suffer, the sins that are daily committed would change 
in a moment all her joys to sorrow. A single mortal sin 
would again place her at the foot of the Cross. This is 
what she makes known to us by her tears at Lourdes, by 
her sweat of blood at Montaigu. It i^ the sad vision of 
sin, it is the awful chalice of the world's iniquity, which 
forces her to give miraculous signs of sorrow Oh ! if 
we love Mary we must hate sin. But, to come to the 
fact. According to grave and learned authors, the 
statue, on one occasion, sweated large drops of blood. 
Pive magistrates, all gentlemen worthy of faith, were 
present when the miracle occurred. They saw the blood 



298 



with their own eyes, and touched it with their own 
hands. After a diligent examination of everything in 
the chapel, they remained fully convinced that a great 
miracle had been wrought in their presence. The next 
day they still found the drops of blood around the base 
of the statue. One of them, Walter Vuckelenus, 
gathered up the blood with a white piece of linen.: 
This cloth was long preserved as a precious relic. 

THE STATUE DISAPPEARS. 

We must here frankly confess that, about the year 
1580, the statue suddenly disappeared. How it vanished 
is altogether unknown. Many suspected a sacriligious 
robbery. The number of pilgrims, however, in no way 
diminished, as Mary still seemed to favor the chosen 
spot. Now, more than ever, the broad arms of the oak 
seemed to bend with the weight of blessings ; its every 
leaf seemed to possess a supernatural power ; its deep 
shadow fell like heavenly balm upon the sad and 
afflicted. A gentleman from Sichem, who had received 
some special graces from Our Lady of Montaigu replaced 
the lost statue by a new one. 

In 1587, many Jesuits, at the request of the Duke of 
Parma, inaugurated camp-missions among the Spanish 
soldiers at that time stationed in Belgium. Father Tho- 
mas Sailly, S. J., was named director of these apostolic 
labors. This zealous missionary soon became one of the 
chief promoters of devotion to our Lady of Montaigu. 
He was, at the time of which we write, stationed at the 



299 



garrison of Sichem. He loved to direct his steps, while 
reciting his office, towards the hill on which Mary was 
so lavish of her gifts. Each time he approached the 
venerable oak he felt his heart filled with ineffable joy. 
Not satisfied with visiting the shrine himself, he wished 
also that the soldiers should, from time to time, honor 
the Queen of Montaigu. He soon had the happiness to 
see many of them wending their way towards Mary's 
favorite spot. It not unfrequently happened that a poor 
soldier went there sick, and returned to the barrack in 
full vigor. 

In 1602 Godefroi Van Thienwinkel, the good parish 
priest of Sichem, caused a little wooden chapel to be 
built at Montaigu. As this was not capacious enough 
to hold the pilgrims that flocked thither, it soon became 
necessary to built a larger one. This second church 
was consecrated in 1604, on the feast of the Holy Trinity, 
by Matthew Van Hove, Archbishop of Malines. Tho 
Virgin of Montaigu showed her signal love for Eev. 
Father Sailly by suddenly freeing him from a malady 
which the doctors had declared incurable. This took 
place in 1606. Father Sailly died on the 8th of March, 
1623. 

About three months after the consecration of the 
Church, it was endangered by the enemies of Belgium 
and of the Catholic religion. The Dutch heretics were 
furious against the Louvain Jesuits, who had been ap- 
pointed by the Archbishop to hear confessions in the 
new sanctuary. The publication of indulgences on the 
Feast of the Assumption, August 15th, 1604, had especi- 



300 



ally stirred up their hatred. The}" sought, therefore, 
the means to extinguish the devotion to our sweet Lady 
of Montaigu. The plot was prepared for the 8th of 
September following, the day on which the Church 
celebrates the Feast of the Nativity of Mary. An im- 
mense crowd of pilgrims were to gather around the 
shrine on that day. This offered an excellent occasion 
for striking a bold and successful blow. The heretics 
were confident of success, as the Spanish regiments were 
just then engaged at Ostend, a considerable distance 
off. That same day the Provincial of the Belgian Je- 
suits, Very Rev. Bernard Oliverius, and the learned 
Pather Cornelius a Lapide, with two other members of 
the Society, were present at Montaigu. The pious pil- 
prims from an early hour attended at the sacred offices 
in the Church. In the midst of their devotions they 
were terrified to learn that a large body of Dutch horse- 
men from Brida and Berg-Op-Zoom had entered the 
village. Most of the poor people fled on all sides in dis- 
may. The Jesuits, forgetful of their personal safety, 
thought only of saving the most sacred and precious 
objects of the sanctuary from the rapacious and sacri- 
legious hands of the enemy. Father Oliverius had the 
happiness of placing the miraculous image in security. 
Father a Lapide made a vow to Mary, and then seized 
the Blessed Sacrament. This good Father at once hid 
himself and his Divine Treasure among the bushes. The 
other two religious also saved different objects of value. 
The soldiers, however, came to the threshold of the 
temple. Their fury was boundless when they found it 



301 



deserted and despoiled of its treasures. One of them, 
Anthony Laenen, who was mounted upon a blind horse, 
rode into the sanctuary, and sneeringly cried : " If thou 
art she who givest sight to the blind, make my horse 
see." 

These impious words had scarcely been pronounced, 
when the horse was indeed cured, but his wicked rider 
was struck blind. Even this miracle did not touch the 
enraged enemies of Catholicity. They smashed in pieces 
everything they had found in the sanctuary, and tried 
several times to set the Church on fire. Happily their 
efforts were vain, for Mary guarded carefully her own 
dear shrine. At length, tired of their fruitless labors, 
the soldiers rushed again upon the village, and having 
sacked it, set it on fire. They then departed with fero- 
cious joy. They treated with great barbarity the few 
peasants thej^ took with them. As they passed the 
wood they almost trampled upon the concealed a Lapide. 
But, thanks to our Saviour, this great and learned 
Father was not discovered by his merciless enemies. 
When all danger had passed away, the Jesuits hurried 
to replace Our Lord in His tabernacle. Our Sweet Lady, 
too, was placed upon her throne. Since then she has 
never failed to pour abundant graces, consolations and 
gifts of all kinds upon all the pious pilgrims who visit 
her favorite shrine of Montaigu. 

It is well to remark here that the superb Church 
which we now admire at Montaigu was erected in 1609 
by the pious Prince and Princess, Albert and Isabella. 
On account of the constant wars which troubled Belgium, 



302 



this noble sanctuary was not dedicated before the month 
of June, 1627. 

THE OLD OAK. 

So great was the veneration for the venerable oak 
upon which the statue had been originally placed that 
visitors felt happy if they could take away with them 
one of its leaves or acorns. Many, however, desired to 
have something more, and the consequence was that 
entire branches had soon been cut off. There was even 
danger of the whole trunk's disappearance. In 1602, 
therefore, the whole tree was cut down by public 
authority, and divided into three parts. One of the 
parts was joyfully received by the Archduke Albert. 
The other two pieces were transferred to the Church of 
Sichem. Statues and crosses carved out of fragments 
of the oak were eagerly sought after in all parts of Eu- 
rope. His Holiness, Pope Urban VIII., the Queen of 
Spain and France, the Archduke Leopold, and hundreds 
of other illustrious personages received some of them 
with veneration and gratitude from the virtuous Isa- 
bella. The ladies of the different Catholic Courts of 
Europe wore them on their necks. Most of the little 
crosses were encased in silver and gold, and ornamented 
with precious stones. Several miracles, according to 
Sanderus, were wrought in favor of those who honored 
Our Lady of Montaigu by wearing a cross from her 
chosen oak. 



303 



PILGEIMS AT MONTAIGU. 



We have it on excellent authority that over 20,000 
pilgrims have sometimes assembled on the same day at 
Montaigu. Among these may be counted Cardinals, 
princes, distinguished warriors and men of letters. For 
the edification of our readers, we shall now speak of 
some of Montaigu's pilgrims. 

THE IKISH SOLDIERS VISIT MONTAIGU. 

The Irish soldiers on the continent of Europe were as 
pious as they were brave and generous. In France and 
Spain, in Austria and Belgium, they practised the vir- 
tues that they had learned in childhood in their dear 
old native isle. The O'Neills and O'Donnells, the 
McMahons and Maguires, remained faithful to the last 
to Ireland and their adopted countries, to God and the 
Yirgin Mother. 

Numan (Hist, des miracles de N. D. de Montaigu, 
4 edit., 1613) tells us that an Irish Jesuit, Father Walter 
Talbot, Chaplain to Colonel William Stanley in 1598, 
with his fellow countrymen, frequently made pilgrim- 
ages to Montaigu. The sweet Queen of Montaigu 
always received the poor exiles kindly. She healed 
their wounds, consoled their hearts, and sent them away 



304 



loaded with graces. Wherever they went the Irish 
soldiers spoke with enthusiasm of the admirable Lady of 
Montaigu. "We may be sure that they often prayed to 
her for their "own loved Island of sorrow." 

ALBERT AND ISABELLA. 

Every year, for nine successive days, the illustrious 
Prince and Princess, Albert and Isabella, were accus- 
tomed to make a pilgrimage on foot from Diest to Mon- 
taigu. It was a touching sight to see these royal pil- 
grims accompanied with their whole court, march slowly 
and piously along the road leading to Mary's shrine. 
Pomp and pride and worldly respect were trampled 
under foot as the illustrious band approached Mantaigu. 
All hearts bowed freely and lovingly before the great 
Queen of Heaven. No sooner was the sanctuary entered 
than all souls melted away in a sweetness that was not 
of earth. Albert and Isabella, together with their suite, 
prostrated themselves before Mary, and offered her their 
most sincere and respectful homage. The sweet Lady 
of Montaigu was pleased with their devotion, and in 
return she poured upon them graces rich and abundant. 
Albert and Isabella were blessed in life and death by 
her. At this day the name and fame of these royal 
and pious souls are the joy and consolation of the Bel- 
gian people. 

BLESSED JOHN BERCHMANS, S. J. 

Blessed John Berchmans, a young Scholastic of the 
Society of Jesus, was a special servant of the Most 



305 



Blessed Virgin. At a very early hour she won all the 
affections of his pure heart. Her name was ever ready 
to flow from his lips, her sinless soul was a beautiful 
vision that never faded from his eye. Happy youth, 
generous youth, who trampling upon earthly love, rose 
up into close union with the Queen of Angels. 

The shrine of Our Lady of Montaigu was very dear 
to young Berchmans. His consolation was great when- 
ever he could make a pilgrimage to it. His home, in 
the little town of Diest, was about three miles from 
Mantaigu. I see from an old map that at this time 
woods lined the route on both sides. At present it is 
not thus. The road, however, is still well shaded by 
four fine rows of trees. Little John was accustomed to 
make his pilgrimage in silence and prayer. As I lately 
walked along this same route, I fancied that I beheld 
this dear child with his little rosary in his hands ; I 
thought I saw his lips move fast ; I saw the big tears of 
devotion roll down his glowing cheeks ; I accompanied 
him in spirit to the House of Mary ; I saw him fasten 
his tearful eyes upon the statue of his sweet Mother. 
The light of faith and innocence shone round about 
him : I heard him breathe out the secret throbbings of 
his heart ; I gazed upon him until my own soul melted 
away within me. Oh ! who can tell the sweetness of the 
hours passed by Blessed Berchmans in the sanctuary of 
Montaigu? Who can describe the holy intercourse of 
his pure soul with the Immaculate Virgin in her favorite 
dwelling place ? If at Montaigu the poor sinner is raised 
so far from earth, if the hardest and most ungrateful 



30G 



hearts are there so softened and inflamed, what shall 
we say of the devotion, the ecstacy, of our saintly 
youth ? According to several authors, it was there he 
consecrated himself irrevocably to the Blessed Virgin 
by a vow of chastity. 

May Blessed Berchmans obtain for us all a great 
purity of soul and body, and a special devotion to our 
dear Lady of Montaigu. 

THE STUDENTS OF THE LOUVAIN CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY. 

About a month ago, at midnight, the university 
students commenced their march from Louvain for 
Montaigu. The night was calm and clear. A dead 
silence rested upon the old classic city by the Dyle. 
It was a time favorable to yrajev and contemplation. 
All at once the silence was broken, and five hundred 
manly voices chanted forth the Litany of the Blessed 
Virgin. It was a grand thing to hear these five hundred 
young men, the pride and hope of a dozen countries, 
sing with enthusiasm of the Queen of all nations. Sure- 
ly the age of devotion is not gone. The Church is ever 
young and beautiful. Her children in every age and 
clime give us rare examjDles of piety and faith. In the 
midst of the infidelity and indifference that surround us, 
have we not here a striking example of Christian 
fervor? For nearly five hours our pilgrims trod their 
pious way. They changed, from time to time, the 
order of their spiritual exercises. Now they poured out 
hymns in Mary's honor ; now, as they passed through 
the sleeping villages, they softly recited the rosary. 



307 



The morning light was reflected from the star-covered 
Toof of Mary's Sanctuary when the pilgrims came in 
sight of it. Oh ! that first glimse of the old far-famed 
shrine ! It thrills the heart through and through with 
delight. The students could not control their joyous 
emotions on seeing it, so they burst out into a song of 
triumph. Their swelling "Magnificat" filled the air 
far and near. It was a pleasant sound. The peasants, 
with heads uncovered, rested in the fields to hear it. 
The last of our generous youths had stood at the 
entrance of Montaigu's Sanctuary before the echoes of 
their voices died away upon the outer air. All received 
Holy Communion with great love and devotion. 

All honor to the students of the Catholic University 
of Louvain. 

It would be an injustice to the devotedness of the 
Jesuit Fathers if we did not add here that it is they 
who have organized this yearly pilgrimage of the Uni- 
versity students. On the above-mentioned night the 
Bev. Father Castelein, S. J., the able Director of their 
Sodality, with two other pious and learned Jesuits, con- 
ducted the pilgrims to Montaigu. 

MY VISIT TO MONTAIGU. 

I shall never forget my first visit to Montaigu. As I 
-entered the village I seemed to go into a new atmos- 
phere. A feeling of wonderful calm came over me. I 
seemed to have left far behind me the din and strife of 
this world. 



308 



I entered the venerated Sanctuary while a Solemn High 
Mass was being sung. The vested priests looked grand. 
Sweet music from the choir filled the Church. Thou- 
sands of pilgrims piously knelt before the altar. If in 
the village streets I enjoyed such a calm, what was my 
peace when I prostrated myself before the statue of the 
fair Queen of Montaigu ? You who have knelt at Lour- 
des or Loretto can tell ; you who have felt the sweet 
influence of Mary's presence understand it. Beside me 
knelt an old soldier who had fought under Napoleon. I 
saw the medal on his breast, and his eyes were wet with 
tears. In the shadow of a pillar I noticed a few nuns 
They had left the solitude of their holy cells to come 
and taste the peace and sweetness of Mary's home. I 
saw hands firmly clasped that shone with precious stones. 
I also saw hands that had been made brown by the sum- 
mer sun. The rich and poor alike shared the bounty of 
the Mother of all. Everything in the sanctuary helped 
to inspire devotion. The trophies of Mary's power and 
goodness that hung against the walls, the sighs, the 
tears, the half -whispered prayers, told of hearts deeply 
touched by interior grace. The very faces of the pilgrims 
seemed to glow, so great was their devotion, I never 
before beheld a whole congregation so profoundly ab- 
sorbed in prayer and contemplation. Mary is, indeed, 
the Queen of Montaigu. There she is felt by the sweet- 
ness of the place ; there she is seen by the greatness of 
her works. Faith must be dead, and charity cold, in 
the soul that visits Montaigu without feeling deep reli- 
gious emotions. 



309 



After Mass had been said, a young peasant, holding 
a large cross in his hands, came out of the Sacristy and 
placed himself in front of the main altar, over which is 
seen the miraculous statue. In a few minutes a large 
body of peasants stood beside him. They all knelt 
down together. Their venerable Cure gave them a 
benediction. After that they commenced a hymn in 
honor of the Most Blessed Virgin, and wound slowly 
out of the Church. 

Three other bands of pilgrims went through the 
same ceremonies during my stay in the Church. God 
bless the Belgian peoj)le. May He aid them in their 
struggle for justice, 

MIRACLES WROUGHT AT MONTAIGU. 

The miracles that have been wrought at Montaigu 
are countless. All Belgium has witnessed them for up- 
wards of four hundred years. The heaps of crutches 
and exvotes that crowd Mary's Sanctuary fully attest 
them. Let us hear what De Feller says in his Dictio- 
naire Historique: Justus Lipsius was neither credulous 
nor enthusiastic. In a little work of his, written with 
as much candor as good sense, we find mention made of 
one hundred and thirty-seven miraculous cures which 
took place at Montaigu. These have been attested by 
the civil authorities of different places, examined by the 
wise and judicious Miraeus, Bishop of Antwerp, and 
approved by the grave and prudent Hovius, Archbishop 
of Malines. There are many of these miracles, the de- 



310 



tails of whicli cannot be read without producing full 
conviction as to their veracity. But, if of these one 
hundred and thirty-seven miraculous facts, only one is 
true, the incredulity of the impious is as much con- 
founded as if all were true. 



WOELD-MUSIC. 



There lies sweet music in dead strings, 
And melody in pine and reed, 
Low songs are heard in streams and springs, 
And harmonies in every mead. 

The world is one vast Organ, — made 
To yield all voices and rich notes ; 
Through air and sky, through lane and glade, 
A wondrous song forever floats. 



311 



THE BEAUTY OF CHILDHOOD. 



Childhood is the sinless garden 
Where men walk before they fall ; 
Childhood is the blissful Eden 
Where Man knows not passion's thrall. 



Childhood is the flower-bound haven 
We must leave to cross life's sea ; 
Childhood is the morning's glory 
Shining o'er Man's misery. 



Long I've sought for sinless faces. 
And for hearts all free from care, 
Yet I've found but wasted graces, 
And black sorrow everywhere. 



Let me gaze upon that child now, 
Its pure robe is undefiled, 
Not a stain upon its white brow,— 
O! what bliss to be a child. 



312 
OCEAN AVATES. 



Where did -we meet, blue -waves, blue waves ? 

Out on the lone, wild seas ? 
On Chile's coast ? By Thor Mor's caves ? 

Or by the Hebrides ? 

When did we meet, blue waves, blue waves? 

When storms were raging high ? 
WTien gallant ships went down to graves 

To sleep where rich pearls He? 

White waves, white waves, I know we met 
'Neath heavens that did not smile ; 

The time, the place, ah ! why forget — 
But welcome to our Isle. 

You bring me back old memories 

Of loved and flowery lands ; 
You fill my soul with melodies 

Heard on far distant strands. 

You've traveled far to meet me here, 

You come with many a wile 
To give me joy, to give me cheer, 

Upon this fairy Isle. 

Oh, welcome is your voice once more, 

You bring new life to me ; 
Thrice welcome to our cottaged shore — 

Glad children of the sea ! 



313 
APOSTLES LOVE THE EACE OF MAN. 



I. 



Apostles love the race of man, 

Their land is where they work for God; 
They view each spot from Pole to Pole, 

And love it as their native sod. 



n. 



They set no bounds to their wide prayer, 
Their hands are lifted high for all ; 

On friend and foe, on bond and free, 
They make God's saving graces fall. 



III. 



"They seek no earthly wealth to gain, 
They work for that which never dies, 

•God's glory and Man's glory too — 
These are the only things they prize. 



IV. 



Pour down, O Lord, thy sacred fire 
Upon this frozen heart of mine ; 

Jlnlarge my heart, enlarge my love, 
'Till I embrace all hearts in Thine. 



3U 
ON SEEING THE CAPITOL. 



I. 



O! Vision chaste, white Capitol, 
O! Freedom's Home, lift up thy head ; 

How beats my heart, how swells my soul,. 
Beneath thy glorious dome to tread. 



II. 



Here Freedom lives and wears a crown, 
And Speech is free to plead for Eight ; 

Here tyrants wear no boding frown. 
Here Justice has more force than might. 



in. 



Our land is free, thou art its heart, 

Thy blood is flowing through its veins. 

Our land is free, we'll never part 
With thee, for gaudy courts and chains. 



IV. 



O! Vision chaste, loved Capitol, 

O! Freedom's Tower, lift up thy head ; 

How throbs my heart, how glows my soul. 
Beneath thy glorious dome to tread. 



315 
NO UNALLOYED HAPPINESS ON EAETH, 



You will not find on our banned earth 

A home of peace and rest, 
A spot secure from sin and woe, 

An isle where all are blessed ; 
A land where sunshine ever falls, 

And shadows never lie, 
A city filled with festal halls, 

Yet free from Sorrow's sigh. 

II. 

You will not find on our sad earth 

A way unwet by tears, 
A garden where sweet roses blow, 

But ne'er a thorn appears ; 
A clime where bloom unfading flowers, 

Where death is all unknown, 
A man that never felt lone hours 

Though master of a throne. 

III. 

The land we tread is not for us. 

We are but pilgrims here, 
O'er moor and barren hills we'll roam 

Before our Homes appear ; 
Our feet must bleed on thorny ways. 

Our grief must pass in sighs. 
Our brows must brown 'neath burning rays 

Before we reach the skies ! 



316 



IV, 



The Virgin — purest of her race — 

The gentlest Maid e'er seen, 
Upon this hapless land of ours 

Was crowned "The Martyr Queen ;" 
And Jesus — King and Lord of all — 

The Dearest, Greatest, Best — 
Knew Herod's Court, and Pilate's Hall, 

And on a Cross bought rest. 



TO A PKIEST. 



I. 

When Jesus' grace is flowing, 
When Jesus' heart is glowing 
Before thy ravished eyes, 

Oh then remember me. 

n. 

When on the altar lying 

He hears thy heart's deep sighing 

And makes sweet joys arise, 

Oh then remember me. 

m. 

When death is o'er me stealing. 
And the abbey's bell's sad pealing 
Tells that my spirit flies, 

Oh then remember me. 



317 



NO MOKE WE'LL SAIL O'ER A TROUBLED SEA, 



No more we'll sail o'er a troubled sea, 
No more we'll gaze on a frozen lake, 

No more we'll tread o'er a scentless lea, 
No more we'll sigh by a songless brake. 



Thou art now free from this land of sin, 
And free from it countless scars and ills ; 

Thy throne is built, far from earthly din. 
Amid the calm of eternal hills. 



My home is lone, for I miss thy face, 
For I hear no more thy step or voice, 

But, praised be God, and His strong, pure grace. 
The thought of thee makes my heart rejoice. 



I see thee, friend, with a palm in hand, 
While the saints and stars around thee shine ; 

I watch thee walk through the blessed land, 
Till I wish thy blissful lot were mine. 



We'll meet again on that heavenly shore. 
Which no sullied soul can touch or see ; 

We'll meet where angelic hosts adore 
Their Lord and God — the Holy Trinity. 



318 



THE OLD YEAK IS NOT DYING. 



Toll ye the church-bell sad ana slow, 
And tread softly, and speak low, 
For the Old Year lies a-dying. 

Lord Tennyson. 



Tlie Old Year is not dying, 
Sad dreamer, 

His banners still are flying, 
False dreamer, 

Though dark the night and chill, 

He fills his bumper still, 

And laughs with right good-will, 
Poor dreamer. 

He scorns to hear thee crying, 
Thon dreamer, 

**The Old Year lies a-dying," 

Thou dreamer, — 

No Hour has ever died, 

No Day from Man can glide, 

Old Years fore'er abide, 

Wild dreamer. 



319 



MOTHEE'S BEADS. 



Bright birds and butterflies I chase, 
Or play with flowers and polished seeds, — 
How sweet and mild is mother's face, 
She tells for me her Blessed Beads. 



"We go and kneel beside a tomb, 
Her eyes are wet, her sad heart bleeds ; 
My father's dead and in the gloom, 
She tells for him her Blessed Beads. 



My brother, Tom, was lost at S3a, 
He sleeps his sleep 'mid shells and weeds ; 
"When thunders roar, and winds blow free, 
She tells for Tom her Blessed Beads. 



Our darling Joe, young, noble, brave, 
Received red scars for noble deeds, 
"When mother sees bright banners wave, 
She tells for Joe her Blessed Beads. 



In every pain, in every grief 
In all her hourly woes and needs, 
A mother's heart can find relief 
In counting o'er her Blessed Beads. 



320 



IF THOU WERT NOT IMY LOVE, O ! GOD. 



I. 



If Thou wert not my Love, O! God, 
How dark and sad my heart would be ; 

If Thou wert not my Hope, 0! God, 
How could I bear earth's misery? 



n. 



A weary pilgrim I have been 

Since morning dawned upon my way, 
A weary pilgrim I must be 

'Till night her star-gemmed flags display. 



ni. 



A few kind friends to-day I met, 
I had to pass before their door ; 

They greeted me — they wept for me — 
But now they dream of me no more. 



IV. 



I fain would sit upon this rock, 
And take that rest so long denied ; 

But no, ah, no, I must move on 
'Till I have crossed Life's Desert wide. 



321 



V. 



The sands are hot, the sands are red 
With blood that fired my heart and brain ; 

How can I stand the simoon's breath? 
My God, forgive, if I complain. 



VI. 



If Thou wert not my Light, 0! God, 
How dark my brightest day would be. 

If Thou wert not my Strength, O! God, 
How could I bear Life's misery ? 



THEEE IS ALWAYS LIGHT IN HEAVEN. 



OJ 



There is always light in Heaven — 

Not the light we see afar 
When the West with gold is flowing 

Nor the light of moon or star. 

II. 

Not the light the royal Poet 
Saw around his music thought, 

Nor the light the favored Moses 
From the mountain summit brought 
III. 

There is always light in Heaven, 
Light the Just alone can see 

^Vhen the day of life is ended, 
And the soul from earth is free. 



322 
ST. MARY MAGDALEN. 



I. 

Now bind thy tear-wet hair, 
O mournful Magdalen ! 
And dry thy blue eyes fair, 
sad-faced Magdalen ! 
Heed not Jerusalem's sneers — 
Cleansed in thy love and tears 
Is the red guilt of years — 
favored Magdalen ! 

II. 

Now to the desert fly, 

O thrice-blessed Magdalen ! 
And watch, and pray, and sigh, 

O holy Magdalen ! 
And sanctify thy days 
With hymns of love and praise, 
Stern Penance guard thy ways, 

O loving Magdalen ! 

III. 

Thy course will soon be run, 

O lovely Magdalen ! 
Thy crown will soon be won, 

O fading Magdalen ! 
A bark by billows cast, 
A flower in winter's blast. 
This hour may be thy last 
blissful Magdalen ! 



K 



323 



FAIK SPOUSE OF CHKIST. 



(to the chuech.) 

Pair Spouse of Christ, thy glory 'round me shed, 
Cast on my soul the poet's purest fire ; 

Give to my songs new life when I am dead, 
For I have loved thee and thy lyre. 



I long to praise thy sons — the bard and saint, 
I long to sing sweet songs of my loved Queen, 

But my weak soul, a wearied bird, grows faint 
Ere heaven's beauty it hath reached or seen. 

I long to tell the world how deep and strong 
My love for thee is — Bride of Life and Truth ; 

I long to sing for thee one burning song 
Ere pass away the loving days of youth. 



Chaste Spouse of Christ, all beautiful and fair, 
My soul is kindled with bright thoughts of thee; 

For thee I'll sing, for thee shall rise my prayer, — 
My only One, forever dear to me. 



324 



TO THE QUEEN OF MAY. 



Oh, sweetly swell celestial lyres 

Upon each Christmas Day, 
But sweeter, richer, softer sounds 

Thy voice, fair Queen of May ; 
Oh, may. we hear thy voice so sweet 
When God, our Judge, we rise to meet. 

Oh brightly waves the censers pure, 
When heavenly spirits pray, 

But brighter still when for us pleads 
Thy voice, sweet Queen of May ; 

Oh, may we hear thy voice so sweet, 

When God, our Judge, we rise to meet. 

A martyr's love is dear to God, 

And dear a hermit's lay, 
But dearer far than either is 

Thy voice, mild Queen of May ; 
Oh, may we hear thy voice so sweet. 
When God, our Judge, we rise to meet. 

Then, Virgin dear, e'er be our guard, 
Our love, our hope, our stay. 

And grant, oh grant, at death we'll hear 
Thy voice, kind Queen of May ; 

Oh, may we hear thy voice so sweet. 

When God, our Judge, we rise to meet. 



325 



DAEK OF EYE, AND DAKK OF SKIN. 



Dark of eye, and dark of skin, — 
But her soul was glowing ; 

Her pure heart was free from sin, 
All her beauty was within, 

Graces 'round her path were flowing. 

Faith and Love — her richest store ; 

Fairest angels glowing ; 
Entered through her cabin door, 

Knelt upon her earthen floor, 
Watched her soul in beauty growing. 

All despised the dark-skinned maid,- 
Yet her soul was glowing ; 

'Neath that veil of darkest shade 
They knew not a heart was laid 

Fairer than the rose-tree blowing. 



326 
A PEOPLE'S PEAYER. 



What future ours ? Ah, none can say ; 

The Nations fall, as leaves now fade, 
The hills themselves must melt away, 

Stern death is never long delayed ; 
But God is kind, and Him we trust, 

To Him we send a People's prayer ; - - 
Oh, Source of Love, oh, King Most Just, 

We place our land beneath Thy care ; 
Save her from shame, and crime, and wrong. 

Give her the Ught to do Thy will, 
Her days of greatness, oh, prolong. 

And guide her steps up Virtue's hill. 
On all the land look down, dread God, 

On all our deeds, oh, kindly gaze, 
Ah, rule us with a Father's rod. 

And, oh, forgive our erring ways. 
By black Missouri's hasty wave, 

By shelled Patuxent's friendly side. 
In home and school, in field and cave, 

May Thy rich blessing e'er abide. 
Oh keep our swords fore'er at rest, 

And make our ploughs like sabres shine, 
Bless North, and South, and East, and West, 

Oh bless them with a love divine. 



327 



YAITR, HOPE, AND LOVE. 



I. 



Yes, take my harp and break its strings, 
Destroy for aye its tunefnl voice. 

Take from me all that nature brings 
To make my lonely heart rejoice. 



II. 



Hush songs of birds, hush songs of streams ! 

In darkness hide each green-boughed tree; 
Stay, stay the summer's cheering beams, 

Let all earth's beauties fly from me. 



ni. 



But leave me Faith, and Hope, and Love — 
Three lamps to light my awful gloom — 

But let me cling to God above — 

Then welcome be the martyr's doom. 



328 



MY SOUL IS LIKE YON GLOWING FIRE. 



My soul is like yon glowing fire, 
Burning with a fond desire, 
To ascend on high. 

My life is like yon taper bright, 

Wasting fast its measured light, 

Soon, oh, bliss, to die. 

My steps are like the dew at morn, 
Passing from the rose and thorn. 

Passing from earth's joys and woes. 

My heart is like the tiny bark 
That flies the waves, when they grow dark. 
And seeks in port a sweet repose. 



329 

LINES TO SISTEK ANGELINE. 

(A Sister of Charity.) 



Only the Spirit of Wisdom, 

Only the Spirit of Love, 
Only the Spirit of Jesus, 

Only the Heart of the Dove, 
Could teach thee to fly from earth's pleasures 

And sigh for the Far, and Unseen, 
To toil for the sick and the lowly. 

To toil for the poor, — Angeline. 

II. 

Only the Solace of Virgins, 

Only the Spirit of Love, 
Only the Spirit of sweetness, 

Only the Voice of the Dove, 
Could breathe in thy soul the sweet warning 

To follow the Virgin's pure Queen, 
To think of the Lamb and His Beauty, 

To long for His Face, — Angeline. 

ni. 

Only the Spirit of Courage, 

Only the Spirit of Love, 
Only the Spirit of Goodness, 

Only the Heart of the Dove, 
Could give thee the bliss ani the sweetness. 

The changeless and holy serene, 
That light up. thy soul with pure sunshine, 

That brighten thy heart, — Angeline. 



330 
A HTSIN TO THE QUEEN OF MAY. 



Had I the mind of the poet king, 

And the voice of St. Dunstan's lyre,* 
I could not write — I could not sing, 

As my heart and my soul desire ; 
No human power can frame the sound, 

No earthly choir can chime the lay 
"Worthy of thee - forever crowned — 

Our loved and loving Queen of May. 

The hermit in his rocky cell, 

The virgin from her still retreat, 
The woodman in his piny dell — 

Ay, thousands in the noisy street : 
The poor and rich, the wise and great, 

Where'er our Pontiff holds his sway, 
To thee their hearts now elevate, 

O loved and loving Queen of May. 

Within the winding catacomb, 

When burning Christians lit the night, f 
What song was heard 'neath Pagan E,ome, 

So pure, so pleasing in God's sight ? 
What song rolls down St. Peter's aisles ? 

What music does its organ play? 
What song can win dear Jesus' smiles ? 

Thy hymn, O loving Queen of May ! 

Let maidens bring thee wreaths of snow. 

Let youthful bards sing sweet of thee, 
Let all Life's veterans to thee go, 

And bend their hearts when bends their knee, 
But, like St. John, O ! let me love 

Thee as my Mother and my stay ; 
And grant, O grant, I'll see above. 

My loved, my loving Queen of May ! 



* An angel played one day on the harp of St. Dunstan. 

f Nero caused many of the early Christians to be braced in tunics steeped in 
pitch, and then placed at certain distances, then set on fire to light the streets 
at night. 



331 
SACRED IS THE GLORIOUS BANNER. 



Sacred is the glorious banner 

Eeddened with a patriot's gore ; 
Blessed is the noble banner 

That a Christian soldier bore. 
Though its folds are torn and gory, 
Bards will sing its deathless glory, 
Chiefs will tell its thrilling story, 
And if e'er it be unfurled, 
Brave hearts will shield it 'gainst the world; 
Tyrants well may crouch and fear 
When that banner's folds appear ; 
Trampled slaves may freely rise 
When it meets their timid eyes ; 
Maids will kiss it in their dreaming, 
Priests will bless it proudly streaming, 
Swords will guard it brightly gleaming ; 
Men will hang it in some temple 

Where nuns pass their lives in prayer ; 
Maids will place around it burning 

Lamps of gold and tapers fair ; 
And the shadows nightly falling. 

When the Sisters chant their hymns, 
Ne'er will touch its folds of glory. 

Ne'er will make its brightness dim. 



332 



THE BELL IS THE VOICE OF GOD. 



Golden dreams through my mind are gliding, 
Bright scenes of home before me roll, 

Child on my father's knee I'm riding — 
When lo, on my ear the toll, toll, toll ; 

From the matin bell rings to my soul — 
I am the Voice of God. 

Up from my couch, while quickly leaping, 

I raise my soul to God on high, 
Soon from books I am gaily reaping. 

The golden crops that in them lie ; 
And the noon-day bell whispers right well — 
I am the Voice of God. 

The sable clouds of night are falling, 
Their shades upon my thoughts are now, 

My actions of the day recalling, 
I kneel to pray with sober brow ; 

Then the vesper bell chimes out so well — 
I am the Voice of God. 

Thus my life I am calmly spending, 
"Within St. Mary's peaceful walls, 

To pray'rs and games, to studies tending, 
As each of them to my lot falls ; 

And I hear the swell of the college bell — 
As if the Voice of God. 



333 



ON DUST, ON CLAY, AVE DAILY TKEAD. 



On dust, on clay, we daily tread, 
Yet in the dust what treasures lie, — 

There sleep the bravest, noblest dead ; 
There sleep the saints of yonder sky. 

The young will come, the old will go, 
And all must tread o'er dust and clay, 

And most must sleep in dust 'till blow 
The trumpets of the Judgment Day. 

The virgin, fair as early morn, 
The hero, that for justice bleeds, 

The Prince, to crowns and kingdoms born. 
Must sleep in dust like trampled weeds. 

On dust, on clay, we daily tread. 

Yet in the dust we all shall lie ; 
The dust shall be our humble bed. 

E'en while our souls are crowned on high. 

The young will come, the old will go, 
And all must tread o'er dust and clay — 

And most must sleep in dust 'till blow 
The trumpets of the Judgment Day. 



334 
A VOICE IN THE SOUL. 



On the silence of my soul 
Falls a voice like falling snow: — 
"Keep thy passions in control, — 
Sin is mother of earth's woe ; 
Earth and earthly things despise — 
Be thy goal Fair Paradise." 

Day and night I hear this Voice, 
Through my soul it gently flows, 
In its music I rejoice, — 
How it cheers me in my woes! 
Spirit, Lover, to mine ear 
Ihy soft Voice is sweet and clear. 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF AN IRISH 
MAIDEN IN EXILE. 



I. 



She came from a green vale in Erin, 

"With sunshine m heart and in eye ; 
Oh, little they thought when they blest her. 
Oh, little they thought when they prest her. 
She left them to pine and to die. 



II 

The brightest of maidens in Erin, 

Her laugh was more gay than a song ; 

Oh, little they thought when she started, 

Oh, little they dreamed when she parted, 

Her heart would be broken ere long. 

III. 

The bravest of maidens in sorrow, 

Her soul was all lovely with grace ; 
Oh, well did they know from her childhood 
That Mary, * ' the flower " of the wildwood, 
Would ever prove true to her race. 



335 
MY LAST HYMN. 



Lord, let me see Thy Lovely Face, 
And let me fly to Thee ; 
O! Source of Life ! 0! Light, 0! Grace, 
Look kindly now on me. 

II. 

Through weary ways I've sought Thy "Will, 
Though weak and frail was I ; 
But let me praise Thee, love Thee still, 
Then gladly will I die. 

III. 

My sins are countless as the waves 
That yonder rise and fall, 
But they are buried in deep graves — 
I've wept above them all. 

IV. 

Sweet Jesus of the Sacred Heart, 
My God, my Lord, my King, 
From Thy fair Throne I'll never part, 
To Thee I'll ever cling. 

V. 

Ye Angels, strike your sweetest lyres! 
Ye Virgins, chant your songs ! 
Ye holy Saints, light incense-fires! 
Eich music, float along ! 

VI. 

A pilgrim from a far-off shore, 
A brother seeking rest. 
Now comes to dwell forever more 
Upon his Saviour's breast. 



336 



EOME, THE MOTHEE OF ALL CHUECHES. 



TO PEOTESTANT ENGLAND. 



I. 



Come back to me, my Fallen child, 
Thou art the fruit of Heavenly Love ; 
I grieve to see thee thus defiled : 
Come back, come back, my Fallen dove. 



n. 



A mother's heart in me thou'lt find, 
I'll think not of thy sinful days ; 
My Daughter, come, — speak not unkind 
To her who weeps thy dark, sad ways. 



III. 



The holy font is near at hand, 
I've laved in tears a robe for thee ; 
Thou art a dear though fallen land : 
Come back, come back, my child to me. 



337 
MY SECEETS. 



Thou hast not read half my secrets yet, 
A garden sealed is my inmost soul, 
Thou seest the foam on the high, loud waves, 
But not the depths of the great sea's roll. 

Thou seest the rays on the rolling tide, 
They come from above and not below, 
My thoughts from thee and the world I hide— 
The light of Outside I freely show. 

Read not from my smiles, nor from my tears, 
The hermit thoughts that I love to keep, 
The birds that start from the stormy main 
Tell naught of the Ocean's secret deep. 

The waves roll back from the sandy shore 
And leave to our view its pearls and shells, 
But no waves will roll from my soul and show 
The Secret Thought that within me dwells. 

Ofttimes a wreck on the sea is found 
That tells a tale of mad Ocean's strife. 
But naught you'll find on the tide of time 
To tell a tale of my inner life. 

'Round rocks and caves the sad sea is heard 
Murmuring, at dead of night, its wrongs. 
But none shall hear from my long-locked lips 
The thoughts that flow through my soul's low songs. 



338 

My secret thoughts, to my God all known, 
I love to keep from a world too cold, 
No man shall delve in my secret mine — 
The thoughts I hold are more pure than gold. 

I'll keep them all as the miser keeps 
The shining ore he has worked to win, 
I'll keep them all, and no man will know 
From my outward deeds, my thoughts within. 

I must not reveal the sweet, sweet thoughts 

That I feast on oft when I'm alone, 

I must not reveal the glorious thoughts 

That I have crowned on my hearts high throne. 



HOPE ON. 



The night is dark, 

And thy frail bark 

Was never made for sailing 

Across a sea 

Where winds blow free, 

And frighted birds are wailing ; 

But, O ! fear not, 

God's brightest smile 

Will light thee upon thy way ; 

Thy bark will reach a Blessed Isle 

By the break of the Coming Day. 



330 
TO A BEACH BIRD. 



Pour out thy song, thou, little bird, 
And dread not storm or sea, 

Thou hast a native right to join 
Earth's choir of melody. 

If I could chant thy thrilling lay, 

How often would I sing ; 
I'd make the valleys, and the woods, 

With my sweet music ring. 

I'd sing beside the bed of pain, 

In palace and in cot, 
I'd sing beside the prison-gate. 

And soothe the prisoner's lot. 

I'd sing upon the city's walls, 

And o'er its dusty ways. 
My harp would yield for evermore 

A hymn of love and praise. 

But I am neither bird, nor bard, 

No font of song is mine, 
I listen to thy witching song. 

And hoard its notes divine. 



340 
IVTY GOD, I'M TIEED OF WOELDLY THOUGHTS. 



I. 

My God, I'm tired of worldly thouglits, 

I long to think of Thee, 
I long to think of all Thou art, 

Of all Thou art to me. 
Thou art my Source of life and light, 

My Brother and my Friend, 
Thou art my Lord, my God, my all, 

My Joy, my Hope, my End. 



II. 



"When shadows fall upon my path, 

And tears bedew my eyes. 
Thou flingest stars from Thy right hand 

To light and cheer my skies : 
"When man forsakes my bed of pain^ 

And leaves me pine alone, 
I feel Thy aid, I hear Thy voice, 

I see Thy blessed throne. 

III. 

Dear Master of my heart and soTil, 

Now give me thoughts divine, 
And make my mind hence forward be 

Thy pure and sacred shrine ; 
Oh, lift me from this world of sin. 

Oh, lift me to the sky • 
Oh, bid me scorn the things of earth. 

For Thee, oh, let me die. 



341 1 

THE BIED AT STEINBEEG CHAPEL. 



Old Steinberg's lonely chapel stood 

Beside a lake, half in a wood ; 

Swans daily swam the lake's smooth blue, 

Aad round the wood fair flowerets grew, 

The tall pines seldom moved or stirred, 

But songs of birds were often heard 

By pilgrim-students who drew near 

The chapel, filled with love and fear ; 

But ah, how sad to think, alas ! 

No choir was there to chant at Mass ; 

The holy priest did all he could 

To teach the children of the wood 

Some simple hymns and melodies, 

Some songs to move, if not to please ; 

But all in vain, they could not learn 

His simplest tunes to fitly turn ; 

One morn, at Mass, the people heard 

The clear, sweet singing of a bird — 

Not on the trees in open air, 

But in God's House, God's House of Prayer ; 

Not 'mong the pines of the dark wood, 

But in the shrine the songster stood ; 

All through the Mass the sweet bird poured 

His songs of praise, while all adored 

The Tender God, the Gracious King, 

"Who taught the wild birds how to sing ; 

And after Mass the peasants spoke 

Of the sweet thoughts the bird awoke 

Within each mind, within each heart, 

"When into music he did start ; 

And some there were who said, and thought. 

The bird from Heaven his music brought ; 



342 

Now, all the Sunday service o'er, 

The sexton locked and barred the door ; 

But, sad to think, he did forget 

The bird was in the chapel yet ; 

The bird was there, and there alone — 

One worshiper before God's Throne ; 

All day and night the little thing 

Sang songs of praise before his King. 

A week has past ; the bells are rung, 

And back the chapel-gate is swung ; 

Through all the woods the peasants pass— 

They come once more to Holy Mass ; 

They speak in love of that sweet bird 

Who all their noblest feelings stirred ; 

They wonder if he'll come to-day 

To sing again his wondrous lay ; 

They wonder if he'll come and sing 

Before their Sacramental King ; 

But, ah ! their grief when they behold 

The lovely songster dead and cold ; 

Upon the altar's linen white 

His little body met their sight ; 

He died, not on the seats or floor. 

But by the Tabernacle door ; 

Tears dimmed each hardy woodman's eyes. 

And maidens filled the church with sighs, 

And children wept more bitter tears 

Than children weep in tender years ; 

The gentle priest interred the bird. 

And all the trees with music stirred, 

For all the birds in Steinberg's grove 

Sang o'er their dead a song of love ; 

For every bird and every pine 

Sang o'er the Bard of Steinberg's Shrine. 



343 
WEAEY PILGEIMS. 



All earth's pathways lead to Heaven, 
O ! youthful pilgrims journey on ; 

The ways you tread lead up to Sion, 
O ! happy pilgrims travel on. 

The gleaming gates now stand before you, 
The shining streets now lie before you, 
The golden City glows before you, 
O ! weary pilgrims travel on. 

Pause not, nor look behind. 

But journey on ; 
Sweet rest you soon will find. 

So journey on ; 
The longest road at last will end, — 
E'en now fair angels on you tend, 

So journey on. 

So journey on, ! pilgrim band, 
You soon will reach God's Blessed Land, 
Before God's Throne you soon will stand ;- 
Seek not the roses on your way, 
Earth's beauties soon must fade, decay, 
So travel on. 

Through brake and wood. 
And solitude, 

! journey on ; 
O'er hill and plain, 
In joy and pain. 

Still travel on ; 
"With hope-lit eyes, 
'Neath darkened skies, 

! travel on. 

Hear! hear! those songs of joy and love,— 
They are but echoes from above ; 
Hasten, pilgrims, on. 



344 



'GAINST WINDS AND TIDES. 



'Gainst winds and tides my bark I'll steer, 
Gold beacon-lights must soon appear, 
The breath of flowers now fills the air — 
'Neath yonder clouds lie gardens fair, 
The storm is loud, and fierce, and strong, 
Yet still I hear the beach-bird's song; 
A land-breeze whispers to my sails, 
I feel the peace of peaceful vales. 
The waves that round me rise and roar 
Now rush to kiss my native shore. 
Speed on, brave bark, the lights appear, 
The sea grows still, the port comes near; 
O! God, my God, now clasp Thy son. 
His sea is sailed, his race is won, 
O! God, my God, I've longed for Thee, 
And could not rest on land or sea ; 
Away from Thee no heart can sleep, 
Away from Thee all eyes must weep. 
Sad bells of sorrow in us toll. 
Wide seas of grief around us roll, 
Sharp thorns are springing on our way. 
Dark clouds are floating o'er our day. 
The stars that come at night to glow 
Beveal our deepest floods of woe ; 
The morn oft brings us new-born pains, 
And friends oft forge our hardest chains ; 
Our hearts, sweet Lord, must seek in Thee, 
Their peace, their bliss, their liberty. 



345 



THE DYING CHILD TO HIS MOTHER 



Mother, place me in the garden 

Where my little sisters sleep ; 
Place me 'mong the marble crosses 

"Where the kneeling people weep ; 
Place me where the lonely cj^press 

"Waves, at eve, its dark green head ; 
Place me where the timid willows 

Tremble o'er each flower-decked bed. 



Shadows fall on lake and river ; 
All the woods are void of glee ; 

"Winter comes with clouds and tempests- 
Summer ne'er will come for me ; 

I am tired of ever straying 

Through this cold and cheerless land ; 

I am tired of nightly roaming 

Up and down life's dreary strand. 



Mother, place me in the starlight 

Flowing through the broken tower ; 
Place me where the bells of silver 

Daily ring the vesper hour ; 
Place me where my friends and kindred 

Oft will come to weep and pray ; 
Place me where my sainted fathers 

Calmly wait the Judgment Day. 



346 

Brightly now the moon is shining 

On the hill, and plain, and town ; 
Heaven's golden gates now open — 

Lo ! an angel with a crown ; 
He is coming like the morning, 

With a radiant face and mild ; 
Now a sweetness fills my chamber 

As from florets fresh and wild ! 

Welcome angel, welcome guardian, 

Stay a little while with me ; 
Tell me of God's lovely mansions — 

What fair land is this I see ? 
Mother, mother, I am going — 

Life, for me, is at its close ; 
Bear me to the Blessed Garden, 

'Neath the Cross let me repose. 



POETIC INSPIEATION. 



I cannot hear the red-breast's lay 
But I am moved to seek my lyre, 
I cannot see a daisied way 
But comes again the same desire. 

Oft in the city's living tide 

I see some faded, wasted flower, — 

I hasten on, or turn aside, 

To strike my harp for one sad hour. 

I hear a tale of woe and pain, 
Or learn some tidings sweet to me, 
I seize the lyre, I must again 
Pour out my soul in melody. 



347 
TO THE REV. ABRAM J. RYAN. 



Loved Priest, loved Bard, how like my native Isle, 
My heart hath found those sweet sad songs of thine ; 

Bright beaming through their mist of tears— the smile 
Of Holy Faith is seen, a peace-lit, rainbow sign. 

Like pure and holy wells, to light their spring 
From sacred cells, deep, deep, within thy breast ; 

To darken hearts bright cups of joy they bring, 
To wearied souls they waft the balm of rest. 

The star of hope sleeps on their floods of woe, 
And on their waves forever floats a prayer ; 

The Cross is shining in their depths below, 
And o'er them glows the arch of heavens fair. 

Along their shores is heard the surge of war, 
A nation's soul is in their sorrowed tone, 

A people's wail they carry near and far ; 

"The field is lost, tho' with our dead 'tis strewn." 

"The field is lost !" Oh, no, not lost ! Not lost, 
Since one great master-hand was found to thrill 

The earth with pity for the blood it cost, 
And love for generous hearts forever still. 

"The Conquered Banner" shall forever wave 
In pride above the dark, green towers of time, 

And bright shall gleam the stainless Southern glave, 
Now glorified in deathless songs sublime. 

The lost, lost cause in noble song is won, 
Its dead still live, led on by Kobert Lee, 

As long as mountains stand, or rivers run, 
Thy songs will give the shout of "Victory ! " 



348 



TO AMERICA. 



All hail ! thou bride of Liberty ! 

No fetters now thy fair limbs own ; 
Thou sittest by the lake and sea, 

With toilers standing round thy throne 
No thirsting swords around thee gleam, 

No guns look forth to guard thy sway ; 
Thou rulest o'er the field and stream, 

"Without an army's red array ; 
In every home thy soldiers dwell, 

Calm-seated by their peaceful fires ; 
But let thy trumpet blasts once swell, 

And they will rise as rose their sires ! 
What empire thine, oh, youthful Queen — 

Proud, noble hearts, and hills of gold ; 
Bays, where ten thousand ships are seen, 

And virgin fields of wealth untold. 
Kind Nature toiled to make thee grand r 

Brave men have bled to make thee One. 
Oh, sun-lit land! oh, glorious land, 

The glad earth cries to thee, "Well done !' 
By Hudson's wave, Elias' crest, 

Thou rulest over laboring, kings ; 
In North and South, in East and West, 

The anvil's heard, the toiler sings ; 
Thy cities grow by sea and lake, 

Like rushing willows by a stream ; 
New homes arise in mead and brake ; 

Thy woods with stout-built hewers teem ; 
O'er all the seas tired pilgrims come ; 

They saw thy star— its light they seek : 



349 

They come to build in thee a home, 

On some far plain or lonely peak ; 
Oh, welcome them — ^brave, sterling men — 

They've fled from tyrant laws and chains ; 
Give them the peace of wood and glen ; 

Give them the freedom of thy plains ; 
Their toil will turn thy clay to gold ; 

Their brain -wall think and plan with thee ; 
Their hands will keep thy flag unrolled ; 

Th ir strength will ever keep thee free ; 
America, forever wield 

Thy power for good and not for ill ; 
True Science and Religion shield 

From dark Oppression's hand and will ; 
On Truth and Justice, Heaven smiles, 

And loves the land to both allied ; 
God is the foe of all man's wiles. 

The enemy of pomp and pride ; 
Oh, land of lakes and boundless fields ; 

Oh, last retreat of Freedom now, 
To thee a freeman homage yields ; 

Before thy face he bends his brow ; 
"Land of the free," "home of the brave," 

May recreants never touch thy shore ; 
May thy starred banner proudly wave. 

O'er States United evermore ; 
The hour is past that saw thee weak, 

A child among the nations great ; 
A babe without a voice to speak, 

A slave enchained by force and fate ; 
No Nation now more free than thou ; 

Thy ships are ploughing every sea, 
Honor and glory crown thy brow ; 

All hail ! fair Bride of Liberty ! 



350 



LOVE OF lEELAND. 



Can it be wrong to love the Land 
Our brave sires died to free ? 
Can it be wrong to prize the shore 
That saints have yearned to see ? 
No, Oh, no ! 
The saints in heaven cry, — "No !" 



Can it be wrong to love the fields 
Where sainted men are laid ? 
Can it be wrong to hail with joy 
The fairest Isle God made ? 

No, Oh, no ! 
The saints in heaven cry, — "No !" 



351 



IKISH BARDS. 



"Where have they found their melodies? — 
Those melodies that melt the soul — 
Beep in lone woods, or by sad seas, 
Or on broad meads where deep floods roll? 

Where have they caught the wondrous strains 
That wet with tears the long-dried eyes? — 
On Winter hills, on misty plains, 
Or in the clouded, mournful skies? 

Oh, tell me, Davis? Moore say where 
You found the music of your lyres ? 
Speak, speak, Mac Carthy, and De Vere — 
What Muse your noble Song inspires? 

Does Music haunt old Erin's cells, 
Where long ago her hermits prayed ? 
Are there kind angels in her dells, 
Who teach how sweetest songs are made ? 



352 



A HOIVIE RULE SONG. 



Now let lis claim our ancient right, 
The tyrant band must fall, or yield ; 
Our foes divided — ours is might 
To force them from the battle-field. 
Hurra ! Hurra 1 
For Ireland's Parliament ! Hurra ! 



Too long divided we have been, 
Now One in aim and heart we stand ; 
Spread out our Banner's folds of green, 
And give one cheer for Fatherland ! 
Hurra ! Hurra ! 
For Ireland's Parliament ! Hurra ! 



"We claim a right to make our laws, 
"We now demand our Parliament, 
"We trust in God, and our good cause, — 
The time we wait is time misspent. 

Hurra ! Hurra ! 
For Ireland's Parliament ! Hurra I 



353 



THIS IS MY NATIVE LAND. 

• 



Land of the lovely shrines ! 
Fount of the sacred wells! 
Ward of the mystic towers! 
Church of the blessed bells! — 

This is my Native Land ! 



Child of the greenest waves ! 
Harp of the sweetest lays! 
Lamp of the deathless flame ! 
Star of the brightest rays ! — 

This is my Native Land ! 



Isle of the richest vales ! 
Nurse of the fairest flowers! 
Love of the bravest men! 
Bride of the brightest hours! 
This is my Native Land I 



Home of the chastest maids! 
Love of Kedemption's Sign ! 
Nun of the sainted fame! 
Casket of jewels divine! — 

This is my Native Land ! 



354 
SWEET LYRE, ADIEU. 



Sweet lyre, adieu, adieu forever 1 
I lay thee by the lone, green sea, 
Its troubled heart shall never, never, 
Grow weary of thy melody. 

Its winds and waves shall touch thy strings, 
And saddest harmonies awake, 
Its storms shall sweep thy music-springs, 
While ships go down, and brave hearts break. 

Sweet lyre, adieu, adieu forever ! 
The World cares not for songs from me^ 
I'll sing no more ; but Earth shall never 
Be left without sweet sounds from thee ! 



THE END 

















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